Refugees
by ChristineX
Summary: When Chief Bast escaped the Death Star's destruction, he thought he'd left the worst behind him. But with an unpredictable prisoner in tow and a galaxy exploding into civil war, he's discovering his troubles are just beginning. Set between ANH and ESB.
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note: There seem to be two schools of thought regarding "Chief Bast" (he was listed only as "Commander #1" in the credits for _Star Wars_, although most sources I've found state that his rank was actually the equivalent of a Major General). Some say he perished on the Death Star along with everyone else, while others claim that he had to have survived, as his character had a cameo in the _Star Wars Holiday Special_, which takes places a few months after the Battle of Yavin. Obviously I believe he survived, or there wouldn't be a story at all. As with pretty much everything else I write, I'm trying to stick to canon as much as possible, but when it's muddy (as it is here), I'm taking the ball and running with it.

* * *

I

"Evacuate? In our moment of triumph? I think you overestimate their chances."

With those words, General Bast knew Grand Moff Tarkin had sealed his death warrant -- and guaranteed the deaths of the other countless thousands on board the battle station. No use wasting time in pointless argument; Bast knew better. But just because Governor Tarkin had decided to plunge headlong into oblivion didn't mean that Bast had to do the same.

He inclined his head, and began to back his way out of the command chamber. The reports had been most disturbing -- a heretofore undiscovered flaw left the station vulnerable to a carefully targeted attack. Bast had no idea whether or not the Rebellion possessed any pilots good enough to hit the tiny two-meter target. However, the mere fact that they had decided to hit the Death Star with what should have been a laughably puny strike force made him think the Rebels believed they did.

Perhaps what he was contemplating would end in his court martial. On the other hand, if his instincts were correct, he might be the only one left alive to inform the Empire of what had gone wrong.

He couldn't allow fear to rush him. There was no way of knowing when -- or if -- the Rebels would succeed in their attack. On the other hand, what with the chaos in the corridors of the Death Star, with personnel rushing this way and that as they were shuffled from one post to another, his slightly hastened pace would no doubt go unnoticed. The shuttle was already prepared and awaited only a pilot to take it safely away. Although Bast had risen up through the army's officer corps, he'd made a point of knowing enough about flying small and medium-sized starships that he could pilot one in a pinch. Not as elegantly as an Academy-trained officer, of course, but in a life-or-death situation such as this one, elegance didn't count for very much.

Just one quick detour, and then he would be away….

The detention block he sought was only four levels down from the hangar where Grand Moff Tarkin's shuttled waited. Luckily, the turbolift was empty. Bast hoped it would be equally unoccupied during his return trip. Awkward questions would only slow him down.

As soon as the 'lift door opened, he strode out into the detention block, and a pair of black-uniformed guards swiveled their heads to see who the visitor was. Against the shining, dark helmets, their faces looked pale and strained. Although at this level the battle outside only revealed itself in telltale shivers of the floor beneath his feet, Bast could tell the guards knew the station was in jeopardy. He didn't see the officer in charge, which was just as well. His mission would be more easily accomplished if he had only a few enlisted men to intimidate.

"Prisoner transfer," he said shortly.

The two men exchanged a puzzled glance. "Now, sir?" asked the one on the left.

"Yes, now," Bast replied. "Business of the Grand Moff."

Those words had the desired effect. Both guards straightened, and the one who had spoken gulped and said, "Of course, sir. Cell number?"

He had committed the number to memory some days ago. "BZ-2622."

The second guard, the one who had not yet spoken, saluted and then hurried down the narrow corridor between the two facing banks of cells. Another, larger explosion rocked the station, and Bast barely managed to keep his balance. Damn. That was getting too close.

In a gratifyingly short period of time, however, the guard returned with the prisoner in tow, her slender hands locked before her in a set of binders. She looked from her current captor to Bast and then back at the guard, but she said nothing. Bast caught the quick flicker of a dark, speculative gaze before she lowered her head once more to give the floor at her feet a more thorough inspection.

"Thank you, sergeant," said Bast. He let his hand rest near the sidearm he wore at his belt and directed his next words to the prisoner. "To the 'lifts."

She remained silent but did as she was told, moving with a slight limp to the bank of turbolifts that fronted the guard station. Bast hit the switch and uttered a silent prayer that he wouldn't have to wait long for one. Whether anyone or anything was listening to those prayers he didn't know, but within a few seconds the door to the center 'lift opened, and he and the prisoner stepped inside. At once he pushed the buttons for the deck where the Grand Moff's shuttle was located. 

"Are you going to question me some more?" the prisoner asked. Like him, her voice betrayed the rounded accents of someone from the Core worlds. The turbolift shuddered as the station took another apparently direct hit somewhere in their vicinity. "Hell of a time for it, I must say."

Bast didn't bother to reply, but instead shot her what he hoped was a quelling glance even as the 'lift shuddered to a stop. "Out," he instructed. 

Was that a shrug she made? Hard to say, with the way the deck kept lurching beneath his feet. But at least she kept her mouth shut and limped in the direction he had indicated, toward Governor Tarkin's heavily modified Lambda-class ship. A harried-looking deck officer rushed toward them, but Bast raised a hand and forestalled the man's questions by saying, "Business of the Grand Moff."

And since Bast was well-known through the station as the Governor's adjutant, the deck officer really couldn't protest. He nodded. "You're cleared for takeoff, sir, but it's chaos out there. Are you sure the ship can handle it?"

"Of course, Commander," Bast replied. Inwardly, however, he felt a twinge of doubt. True, Tarkin's shuttle had vastly amplified shields along with a host of other improvements, but would all those modifications be enough to get them through the firefight raging outside?

A calculated risk, and better than sitting around and waiting for one of those Rebel pilots to hit the sweet spot. Without further comment he headed up the ramp into the shuttle, where the girl he had freed waited for him. 

Once he was inside, he headed immediately to the cockpit, his prisoner trailing along only a pace or so behind. As he took his position in the pilot's seat, he heard her ask, "Are you going to take these off?"

Bast risked a quick glance to his right and saw her raise her hands, still encased in the binders the guard had placed on her. "No time now," he replied, and leaned over to snap her safety harness in place.

"Lovely," she muttered, but at least she didn't waste any effort on further argument, but instead settled herself against the back of her seat.

The shuttle had been left in standby mode, which meant Bast had only to engage the repulsors to lift its mass off the deck and then steer the ship through the hangar opening. Sensors told him the deck officer had already dropped the atmospheric shields to allow them to exit. Bast increased the throttle, feeling the powerful sublight engines kick in as they burst from the hangar bay and into chaos.

A pair of X-wings screamed by overhead, followed by two TIE fighters and a TIE bomber. Luckily they seemed to be so involved with their face-off that they ignored the shuttle as it sped away from the Death Star. Bast increased the power to the shields, but not so much that it would compromise their speed. The trajectory had already been plotted in, the one that would place them in the correct orientation to line up for the hyperspace jump to Coruscant. All they needed was a few more precious seconds, just a little more time to get free --

The rear viewports exploded in a wash of blinding white light. Bast flinched, while in the co-pilot's seat next to him the girl let out a shocked gasp. Stifling a curse, he urged more power from the straining engines, just enough to get them ahead of the shockwave.

It caught them anyway, and the little ship bucked and heaved like a bantha caught in a trap. Sparks flew, and one of the consoles overhead went dark. This time Bast didn't bother to hold back the curses that rose to his lips, but at the same time he worked frantically to shunt the power he needed from the shields into the backup navigation system. They'd already gone through the worst the shields would probably have to take, but they were dead if navigation failed them.

A reassuring row of lights flickered into being, signaling that the navigation systems were back online. At the same time, a strident beep let Bast know they had reached the hyperspace jump point. He reached forward and pulled the lever back, and the shuttle shot out of realspace, leaving the shattered pieces of the Death Star and Grand Moff Tarkin's dreams far behind.

Bast let himself fall back against the well-upholstered pilot's seat, then lifted up his cap and ran a relieved hand through his hair.

A discreet throat-clearing noise made him turn his head. The prisoner stared back at him, her mouth pursed, as she held out her hands in front of her.

_Cool little thing, isn't she?_ he thought, and despite himself he almost smiled. Then he reached in the left pocket of his uniform, drew out his rank cylinder, and inserted it into the locking mechanism of the binders. The chip inside read his rank and personal data, and released the lock.

The loosened binders fell into her lap. She picked them up and flung them into a corner of the cabin, then undid the harness from her seat and turned so she could face Bast directly. A pair of large dark eyes fastened on him and gave him a direct stare. "So," she said, "are you going to tell me what this is all about?"

Good question. Bast only wished he had an equally good answer to give her. His day had started normally and crash-landed somewhere in the nether regions of apocalypse. The fact that his intuition had proved him right once again was cold comfort at the moment. Then again, at least he did have the pertinent data regarding the Rebel attack stored in his personal datapad. Any charges of insubordination that might be leveled at him because of his precipitous escape could be fought with the information he alone held. 

The girl was a different matter. He had only known of her existence because she had been apprehended awhile back by an overzealous but somewhat myopic Intelligence subchief on Commenor who had sworn he'd caught the heretofore unimpeachable Princess Leia engaging in Rebel activities. His captive had been sent to the Death Star, which had been traveling through the sector at the time, but it soon was found that the young woman in question was not in fact Princess Leia but a Rebel sympathizer who on occasion acted as a decoy for the princess. A much smaller fish than the one they'd hoped to catch, but a Rebel was a Rebel, and so into a prison cell she'd gone. 

From his thoughts she'd gone as well, even though at the time he'd thought it quite a waste of someone so young and lovely. He'd only spent a few thoughts on her before being consumed by his duties once again. After all, Bast had had more than enough to occupy his mind than to expend useless energy on someone who had bought her own imprisonment with her foolish Rebel sympathies. 

But then had come the attack on the station, and the cold fear that had gripped his gut as he realized what the Rebels' attack pattern could mean. Death for everyone on the station, from Grand Moff Tarkin down to the lowliest deck hand. Oh, a few TIE pilots who were out flying sorties would probably escape, but for everyone else it would be a fiery -- albeit quick -- death.

The thought surfaced then, even as he tried to keep the panic at bay:_She should not die_. Bast would never be able to explain to himself where such an alien notion had sprung from, nor how he found himself acting on the impulse once he realized he was going to take Tarkin's shuttle and save his own skin. The moments his foolhardy rescue mission had required could have spelled both their dooms, but despite everything he had somehow managed to get himself and the young Rebel woman away. 

He stared back at her, even as an unfamiliar uncertainty took hold of him. From the dubious expression on her face, it appeared she expected the worst.

"Does it matter?" he said at last. "You're alive. Why is immaterial."

"Typical Imperial reply," she responded, and shook her head. "What was that explosion?"

"The end of Grand Moff Tarkin's battle station." It didn't feel quite as bad when he put it that way. All along Bast had been less than impressed with the Death Star; like General Tagge, Bast had always felt the Empire should concentrate more on efficient deployments of its military forces and less on the latest superweapon. Tarkin of course had not agreed, and Bast had kept his mouth shut on the subject despite his personal feelings. The quickest way to end one's career in the Imperial military was to disagree with a higher-ranking officer. 

"So we did it," she murmured.

Her use of "we" was not lost on Bast. No chance she had been falsely imprisoned for her Rebel sympathies, then. 

"A momentary setback, I assure you," Bast said, more because he felt such a response was necessary than because he actually believed it. After all, Tarkin and Motti and the rest of that cabal had felt the Death Star was impregnable, and look where that false belief had gotten them. 

A quick ironic glance told him what she thought of that statement. "I'm not important enough to be worth saving. Any report from one of my interrogation sessions could have told you that. So why?"

It appeared she had learned something from her interrogators about the power of persistence. Still, Bast had no ready answer to give her, and at any rate, he wasn't about to let some silly Rebel girl get the better of him.

"Why not?" he asked, in arch tones.

Instead of taking offense, she burst out into a peal of unexpected laughter. "You are a case, aren't you? Well, then, if you won't tell me why I'm here, perhaps you'd be good enough to tell me where we're going."

That seemed safe enough. "To Coruscant. It is incumbent upon me, as perhaps the only surviving officer from the Death Star, to take the information learned of the Rebel attack directly to the Emperor."

"Coruscant?" She shook her head. When she had first been taken captive, her dark hair had been worn in some elaborate style probably meant to mimic one of Princess Leia's, but now the girl had it dragged back into a messy braid that was beginning to unravel. "I hope the information you're carrying is good enough to make them overlook the fact you turned tail and ran."

Well, of all the -- "I did not _run_," Bast ground out. "I made a judicious escape once it was determined the Rebel attack had a high chance of succeeding."

"You go on telling yourself that."

Really, for a prisoner she certainly had an uncommon amount of cheek. "Might I remind you that you would be dead if it weren't for me?"

"Well, that's true." A bit of the sparkle went out of her eyes then, and she pulled her legs up against her chest and hugged them to her. Her bare arms looked very thin and pale against the dark gray prison garb, which consisted of a sleeveless tunic and a matching pair of baggy pants. In fact, Bast thought he could see the chill-bumps standing out against her skin. No wonder -- the cabins of all Imperial ships were kept at a temperature more or less comfortable for those wearing the heavy woolen uniforms. Her lightweight prison clothing was little protection against the cold air.

Now that they were in hyperspace, Bast didn't need to keep quite so close a watch on the cockpit. It was a long way to Coruscant, after all. He rose from his seat and made his way back down the corridor to the Grand Moff's cabin, where he found several spare uniforms hanging in the wardrobe. Taking the jacket from one of these, he draped it over his arm and then returned to the pilot's cabin. The girl looked up at him with mystified eyes as he handed the garment to her.

"It will help keep you warm," he explained.

For a moment she was silent, and then she shrugged her way into the heavy jacket. The Grand Moff had been so skeletally thin that it wasn't overly large on her, although the sleeves did extend far down over her fingers. She pushed the sleeves up as best she could and then said, "Thank you. If you keep on being this decent, I may have to revise my opinion of the Imperial military."

Bast didn't know whether to tell her she was welcome or to take her to task for her ridiculous Rebel sympathies. Feeling a bit strangled, he settled for giving her a disapproving shake of the head before he returned to his seat.

"And how are you going to explain me?" she inquired. "It seems a bit odd that you'd save me from the Death Star just so you could hand me over to a new set of prison officials on Coruscant."

Well, she had a point there. To be honest, he really hadn't thought that far. It did seem rather foolish to have jeopardized his own life to rescue her if all he ended up accomplishing was to transfer her to a different prison. "I suppose I could make an unscheduled stop," he said, after thinking it over. "Where are you from?"

"Commenor," she replied. "But I doubt my reception there would be exactly warm. The officials on my homeworld aren't especially keen on Rebel sympathizers."

No, they wouldn't be. Some planets, such as lost Alderaan and long-civilized Chandrila, were well known for their Rebel leanings. Others, such as Commenor, still held fast to the New Order. How this girl had managed to become such a subversive in that environment, Bast didn't know. Then again, even in his short acquaintance with her it had become quite apparent that she had a mind of her own. 

"Our options are somewhat limited," he said. "I can bring us out of hyperspace at some point, but I cannot deviate too much from my course. That is, of course, if I decide to let you go at all."

"Oh?" She crossed her arms, pushing once again at her over-long sleeves. "I thought we'd already established that handing me back over to the authorities was a bad idea."

Bast began to wonder if the best thing really wasn't for him to yank the ship out of hyperspace and drop her off at the nearest half-civilized world. That decision was taken neatly out of his hands, however, when the nav-computer began a frantic beeping. At roughly the same instant, the ship shuddered once, and Bast was almost thrown out of his seat as the shuttle ground its way back into realspace. The girl wasn't quite so lucky; taken off-guard, she slid out of the co-pilot's chair and ended up in a messy heap on the ground. Her fall was accompanied by a most unladylike curse. 

"What the hell was that?" she demanded, as she pulled herself back up into her seat.

Damned if he knew. They had been pulled out of hyperspace so abruptly that at first he suspected the intervention of an Interdictor-class starship, but preliminary scans showed no other ships in the area. He began running a series of diagnostics, all the while hoping it was something simple and fearing it was not.

The computer beeped again, sounding as exhausted as Bast felt. A string of numbers trailed across the readout. He stared down at them, and thought of a few curses or fifty he'd like to say himself.

"That good?" the girl asked, apparently guessing from his continuing silence that their sudden entry into realspace had not been planned.

"The hyperdrive is off-line. Possibly the blast that caught as we left the Yavin system caused some damage. It's difficult to know for sure." 

At least their sublight engines seemed to be working. Bast typed in a series of commands, silently willing their navigation system to still be online. If it had been fried as well, then they were as good as dead. But it responded quickly, although the information it had to give him was far from welcome.

"Can you fix it?"

"Of course I can't fix it," he snapped. "Do I look like an engine tech to you? I'm not even a true pilot -- I just know enough to get us up and down."

The first flash of fear he'd seen crossed her features. "So we're stuck?"

"Not completely." He tapped a few buttons, and an image of the system where they'd found themselves stranded appeared on the flat video monitor built into the console. The place was sparse and desolate-looking; only three planets orbited a pale-yellow sun. He pointed at the middle planet. "That's Odos. Not much there, but it has been colonized by humans, and the Empire maintains a small garrison in the capital city. The sublight engines should get us there in about two hours."

She nodded, a bit of the tension seeming to leave her shoulders. "Do you think we can find someone on Odos to repair the ship?"

Bast felt none too sanguine about their prospects, but he replied, "I don't see why not. Even a small colony has to have a few starship mechanics around." _I just have to hope they're good enough to handle this ship_, he thought. _It's not quite the same as working on a YT-class freighter or a skyhopper._

He did not bother to voice his concerns, however, but merely had the nav-computer lay in the most direct course to Odos. The ship turned gracefully and began moving toward the planet, which from this distance was barely visible. At least the sublight engines hadn't failed them. Yet.

For a moment she said nothing, but merely stared out into the blackness that surrounded them. Then she asked without looking at him, "What's your name, anyway?"

The question surprised him a little -- surely a Rebel such as she would prefer to regard him as just a member of the faceless, nameless Imperial horde -- but he saw no point in refusing her an answer. "General Bast."

"General?" Her eyebrows lifted. "I suppose I should feel honored you took time out of your busy planet-subjugating schedule to rescue me, then."

For whatever reason, she seemed determined to irk him. Perhaps goading him into lashing out in anger was her way of coping with their current situation. Whatever the case, Bast certainly didn't intend for her to get her way. "I left the planet subjugation to the Grand Moff."

Contrary to his theory that she wanted to see him upset, his mild tone only made her let out a low chuckle. "Wise of you, I suppose. So do you have a first name, General Bast? Seeing as we're going to be all cozy here for at least the next few hours."

He sighed. "Moradmin."

Her chuckle morphed into an outright laugh. "Oh, that's dreadful!"

"Thank you," Bast said, with only the slightest edge to his voice.

"Well, don't feel too bad," the girl went on. "Mine's Dhani Wardilow. That's short for Dhanella. I don't know what my parents were thinking."

Bast began to wonder what _she_ was thinking. From her tone and the look of amusement that still brightened her face, one would have thought they were trading pleasantries at a dinner party or a tap-café. Surely she didn't have the appearance of someone who had just been rescued from a prison in the bowels of the Death Star, or of a young woman who was now stranded in a backwater with one of her former oppressors.

Well, women and Rebels were both equally incomprehensible, so he supposed a combination of the two could be deadly. Thinking to steer the conversation into less personal topics, he said, "There are some rations and water packs back in the refrigeration unit, if you have need of them."

For a few seconds she didn't reply, but gave him a quick, sidelong look from beneath her eyelashes. Then he saw the slender shoulders lift under the heavy uniform jacket. "I am a bit thirsty," she admitted, and eased herself out of the co-pilot's chair. As she exited the cockpit, she added, "Although right now I think I'd rather have a shot of stiff Gyndine brandy," just before she sailed off down the corridor.

_You're not the only one_, he thought. With a mental sigh, he turned back to the nav-computer readouts.

* * *

Perhaps Dhani had accurately ascertained his mood, or perhaps the reality of her situation had finally begun to hit her. Whatever the case, she was uncharacteristically subdued as the shuttle made its way to Odos, allowing Bast to concentrate on piloting the ship instead of deflecting her continued verbal volleys. It wasn't until after they had finally made contact with the authorities at Odos' one and only spaceport and had received instructions to land that she spoke again.

"So what are you going to tell them?" she asked.

"The truth -- or at least as much of it as they need to know," Bast replied. He made a small adjustment to the engine's power levels in order to give the ship increased fuel efficiency during the descent to the planet's surface. "That I'm on a mission of utmost urgency, and that it's imperative the ship be repaired immediately. If they know what's good for them, they won't ask questions."

"And what about me? I doubt anyone's going to believe I'm your second-in-command or something."

With that statement Bast had to reluctantly agree. Even if Dhani went ahead and donned the rest of Tarkin's uniform, it would be all too apparent it wasn't hers. Never mind the fact that women were such a minority in the Imperial armed forces as to be almost nonexistent. 

"I'll think of something."

An eloquent lift of her eyebrow told Bast exactly what she thought of his powers of imagination. He couldn't even argue with her silent assessment. He was a strategist and an administrator, and although he'd had to think fast on his feet more than once in his career, he certainly was not known for being the galaxy-class flinger of poodoo their current situation seemed to require. 

The shuttle sliced through Odos' upper atmosphere, its wings trailing streams of water vapor. At once the forward viewscreen darkened slightly to accommodate the bright daylight outside. In Otel, the only settlement of significance on the planet's one continent, it appeared to be late morning. From the air the town looked like a dusty brown splotch on the mottled green of the surrounding landscape, and Bast felt his spirits sink at its unprepossessing appearance. Of all the backwaters to end up in….

But he said nothing as the shuttle sailed majestically into docking Bay X-22, as directed. From inside the shabby spaceport administrative offices, a small group of equally shabby-looking humans emerged -- no doubt Odos' version of a formal welcoming committee. Accompanying them were a squad of stormtroopers, who took up flanking positions to either side of the dignitaries. The entire group waited at the edge of the permacrete oval that formed the docking bay's floor while Bast went through the necessary steps of securing the landing gear and shutting down the sublight engines. In the co-pilot's seat next to him, Dhani watched in silence as he worked, but a dancing light in her dark eyes seemed to signal she was plotting something. Exactly what, he couldn't begin to guess. "Wait in here until I come to get you," he told her, in tones he could only hope would be obeyed. "Let me speak with them first."

"I live for your orders, General," she said sweetly. The impish gleam never left her dark eyes.

Oh, of all the -- He turned from her and stalked down the corridor, pulling at the lower edge of his uniform jacket as he did so. No sense looking rumpled in front of the provincials, after all. 

He emerged into sunlight that felt blinding after the dim confines of the shuttle. With the sunlight came a sense of oppressive heat. The humidity levels on this planet were well above what he -- or the Imperial enviro-engineers -- considered comfortable. 

The best-dressed of the contingent stepped forward. "Greetings, sir. You honor our humble planet with your visit. I am Sub-Governor Janning."

Bast gave the slightest inclination of his head. "General Bast," he responded. "I require your assistance, as my ship has malfunctioned and I carry urgent dispatches for Coruscant. If we -- "

He broke off as he realized that Sub-Governor Janning's attention had abruptly shifted to a spot somewhere farther up the shuttle's ramp. Turning the slightest bit to see what had distracted the other man, Bast scowled as his gaze fell on Dhani Wardilow.

She hesitated on the ramp as she surveyed the scene before her. Then her chin went up and her shoulders squared, and it was as if he looked on a different woman. Despite the ill-fitting uniform jacket and the baggy prison trousers, she looked as much a princess as Leia Organa ever had.

Dhani descended the ramp and went straight to Sub-Governor Janning, who stared at her, apparently mesmerized. "My thanks, Governor," she said, and even her voice was subtly altered, the Core accent strengthened, its pitch lower somehow. "On behalf of the Imperial government, I would like to thank you." As the sub-governor blinked up into her face, she went on, "I am Breha Tarkin, daughter of the Grand Moff."


	2. Chapter 2

It's nice to see some people out there want to read about the obscure characters -- and the Imperial ones, to boot! Frankly, I never did have much tolerance for Jedi. Thanks for the reviews, everyone!

* * *

II

The chime sounded, and Dhani set down her hairbrush and went to the door. She had a good idea who waited for her on the other side.

Sure enough, the door whooshed open to reveal General Bast's exasperated form. No sooner had he stepped inside her chamber and she shut the door behind him than he snapped, "Have you lost your mind?"

"I don't think so," she replied, and returned to her dressing table. For a backwater provincial dump like Odos, the locals hadn't done too badly in welcoming the Grand Moff's daughter. The room was large and better-appointed than it had any right to be. Dhani wasn't sure if Sub-Governor Janning had divested his wife or mistress -- or both -- of some of her gowns and jewels, but the collection she had been given for her use was fairly impressive. Perhaps some quiet corner of her soul recognized the reckless audacity of what she had done, but no time for that now. She'd given herself a role, and she had better play it to the utmost of her ability.

General Bast scowled. "What do you think they're going to do when they discover you have no more connection to the Grand Moff than they do?"

One thing about the room that was, unfortunately, quite sub-par was the conditioning units; Dhani spied a thin sheen of perspiration along Bast's hairline, but of course he would not admit to any weakness in front of her by reaching up to wipe it away. Her own evening gown didn't cover nearly as much as his high-necked uniform, and even she felt uncomfortably warm, although the sun had almost set by now.

"And how exactly do you think they're going to discover that little fact?" she inquired, returning to the dressing table and giving her appearance one last critical look. Not bad, considering she'd been locked in an Imperial detention block less than seven standard hours earlier. Satisfied, she faced Bast and crossed her arms. "Do you know what Breha Tarkin looks like?"

He shifted his weight the tiniest fraction from one foot to another, but at least he met her eyes as he replied, "No."

Her estimation of this General Bast rose a little. How many other Imperial officers would have admitted such a lack of knowledge? Dhani wanted to smile but kept her expression neutral. "And if you, the former adjutant to the Grand Moff, have no idea what his daughter might look like, what makes you think these provincials would ever suspect I'm not who I say I am?"

"You have a point." He raised an eyebrow. "And how is it you know Breha Tarkin's name? The Grand Moff was always very careful to keep information regarding his family from getting out to the public."

The public, perhaps, but Dhani had sources the general public lacked. Breha Tarkin had been on the short list of highly placed personages whom Dhani might be called upon to impersonate, as she was the same approximate age and roughly the same physical appearance. Even the best Rebel spies had only been able to procure a few fuzzy flat-screen images of the young Lady Tarkin, but those were enough to confirm that she was dark-haired, slender, and of no more than middle height. Dhani had matched closely enough, just as she had with Princess Leia, though the princess was several centimeters shorter than Dhani. Still, unless you stood them side by side -- and of course such a thing would never happen, since the whole point was to impersonate someone who might be half a galaxy away -- the normal observer would never note the difference.

"I…heard things," she said, after a pause she hoped General Bast wouldn't notice but probably did. He didn't seem to miss much, this one, and some of the opinions she'd formed of Imperial officers while dealing with the members of the local garrison back home were slowly being revised. Then again, she supposed anyone who had achieved his rank had to have a good deal more going on upstairs than your standard NCO.

"Indeed." The blue-gray eyes gave her a piercing look, but he made no further comment.

"How soon do you think they'll know?" Dhani asked, feeling inexplicably relieved.

He didn't pretend to misunderstand her. "News travels quickly, even to backwaters such as this -- even news the Emperor would prefer remained suppressed."

His honesty was surprising. She'd never have thought an Imperial officer would admit that his government might engage in repressing freedom of speech. An exercise in futility anyhow -- official news channels could be censored, but it was impossible to stop the gossip that was traded from system to system. It was a more ephemeral cargo than that which the freighter captains carried in their holds, but one no less important. And Dhani knew the Alliance would waste no time in getting the word out about the great victory they'd just enjoyed. That news would be invaluable, not simply because such accomplishments invariably brought new recruits to their side, but also because they showed the Empire wasn't quite as invincible as it seemed.

She'd known it would be a hard fight and a long slog, but the daunting imbalance between Imperial and Rebel military strength hadn't been enough to dissuade her. Oh, maybe at first she'd been attracted the most to the allure of the subversive, of doing the one thing she knew would forever disturb her quiet life. On Commenor, everything had been safe and regulated and orderly. Even the tap-café her father owned had been a stolid sort of establishment, the kind of place where off-duty Imperial personnel would go to unwind after a shift. Certainly it was nothing like the wild and woolly cantinas one might see in a particularly lurid holovid, the type that always painted the Outer Rim worlds as dens of iniquity needing a firm Imperial hand.

Dhani had never yet given her heart to a man, but she gave it unreservedly to the Rebellion. Safe Commenor paid for its security with heavy taxes and a social structure that might as well have been made of durasteel for all its inflexibility; she'd known even before she hit her second decade that the only way she would ever make something of herself would be to get offworld, and the sooner the better. So when a friend of a friend had whispered of Alliance contacts, of a way to get her to a Rebel cell on Alderaan, she'd packed her things and never looked back. It was on Alderaan that the role of decoy had been suggested to her, and Dhani had gone along willingly. Acting was the one thing she could do well; certainly she couldn't offer her services to the Alliance as a pilot or a mechanic or a slicer.

Bast still watched her with those careful eyes of his; like most Imperial officers, he had the typical sabacc face, revealing little of his thoughts or emotions, but Dhani had the impression he expected some sort of reply.

"I suppose I'll have to practice my expression of brave heartbreak," she said lightly. "I doubt the Lady Breha is given to histrionics, but I'm sure Sub-Governor Janning will expect some sort of reaction if the news of the Death Star's destruction arrives while we're still here."

At her comment he lifted an eyebrow. "No weeping on command?"

Despite the distinct impression that he was mocking her, Dhani decided she would reply with the truth. "Oh, I can do that, too, if the situation calls for it. But I've found it's better if used sparingly."

"I shall have to remember that." Surprisingly, he smiled. "With talents such as yours, however, I find myself wondering why you didn't pursue a career in the holovid arena, instead of throwing your lot in with the Rebels."

She gave a bitter laugh. "Don't think I didn't try. I don't know how it works on other worlds, but on Commenor most of -- if not all -- the leading ladies also happen to be the mistresses and girlfriends of high-ranking Imperial officials. About all I could hope for was to be a piece of background set decoration -- which didn't appeal all that much."

And what a humbling experience that had been. Blithely, she'd thought she could make her way in through talent…and looks, if one were going to be perfectly honest…but that naïve belief hadn't lasted very long. Oh, she'd gotten a few offers she definitely could refuse, and did. She was willing to give up a lot of things to be an actress, but her self-respect wasn't one of them. So when the Rebellion gave her the chance to be someone she was not, of course she had jumped at it. It would teach those lecherous oafs back on Commenor she wasn't someone to be trifled with.

Unfortunately, her luck had run out on her homeworld, of all places. Not because someone had recognized her as Dhani Wardilow, but because some miserable Intelligence bureau chief had thought he'd caught up with the elusive Princess Leia. The irony of her predicament had not been lost on Dhani. A well-developed sense of irony, however, did one little good in the detention block of an Imperial battle station.

When Bast had rescued her, she'd been convinced sex had to be his motivation. Certainly she could think of no other reason why he would have risked his own life by delaying his escape in order to save her. But he'd had plenty of opportunity on the Grand Moff's shuttle to "take advantage," as her mother might have primly put it, and yet he had tried nothing. Dhani wasn't even sure whether she would have put up more than a token resistance. A quick tumble in the ship's sleeping chamber seemed a fair enough exchange for her life. And as Imperial officers went, he wasn't a bad-looking man. Oh, a good bit older than she -- at least ten standard years, probably more -- but at least he had a nice head of wavy hair when it wasn't smashed down by his cap, and there was something rather fascinating about those deep-set cloudy blue eyes of his. She could have done much, much worse.

If seduction was his plan, though, he had a funny way of going about it. When she had opened the door to her suite a few minutes ago, giving him his first sight of her in the borrowed finery, his gaze hadn't even flickered. Not exactly the response of a man who was lusting in his heart, that was for certain.

Her current revelations didn't seem to have affected him, either. He gave the briefest nod of his head when she finished speaking, then glanced at the chrono on his wrist. "We should go down for dinner. The Sub-Governor is expecting us."

"Of course," she said coolly, matching his indifferent tone. It wasn't as if she wanted him, anyway. It was only that he was marginally less repulsive than the Imperial officers who had pursued her in the past.

Still, she couldn't help wondering if he would offer her his arm as they went down to dinner.

Of course, he did not.

* * *

Bast sat at the table, watching in bemused astonishment as Dhani charmed the Sub-Governor, his attaché, the commander of the local garrison, and just about every other male guest at the hurriedly prepared dinner party. Her reception by the few women in attendance was considerably frostier, but he guessed the irrepressible Miss Wardilow was not much bothered by that.

As for himself, he chose to observe rather than participate. If anyone there thought it odd that a person of his importance should be so reticent, they certainly didn't show it. Then again, it didn't seem as if his contributions to the conversations were much missed. Besides a few passing comments on the food -- which was surprisingly good -- to a narrow-faced woman who had identified herself as Trasha Janning, the Sub-Governor's wife, he had remained silent, wondering what he would do if Dhani stuck her foot in it and required rescuing. So far, however, that had not appeared to be the case.

"I've always thought it very important to visit as many worlds in my father's sector as possible," she was saying, as she sipped at a glass of pale greenish-yellow local wine. The heavy gold necklace around her throat glinted as she swallowed. "I believe so much of the current unrest could be curbed if the people responsible felt their government truly did care about them and their concerns. Papa, of course, is a very busy man, but I've done my best to act as his envoy."

"Admirable, admirable," said Major Trent, the commander of the Imperial garrison. He was a portly man whose gray-green uniform jacket fairly bulged at the seams. Bast guessed the uniform hadn't been quite so tight before the good major was posted here; if nothing else, the local cuisine was better than some he'd had in the Core worlds. "Your father has instilled in you a true sense of duty, I see."

Dhani's full mouth curved in a smile that managed to be both modest and seductive. Bast wasn't quite sure how she accomplished it, but neither Major Trent nor the Sub-Governor seemed too concerned about the mechanics involved. Both of them continued to stare at her, mesmerized like a couple of _tarns_ cornered by a Devaronian sand-snake. Across the table from him, Lady Janning scowled and poured herself another glass of wine.

"I do what I can," Dhani said. "At one time I thought perhaps I should go into the service, but Papa thought it better that I remain a civilian. But that has not prevented me from serving the Empire in any way I can."

_Laying it on a bit thick, aren't you?_ Bast thought sourly. He realized then he was apparently the only male at the table not caught in Dhani's spell…and he would do everything in his power to keep it that way. Oh, she was a beautiful girl, no doubt of that, but mere beauty wasn't quite enough to fuse his mental circuits, thank you very much. For a brief moment he wondered what someone like Dhani might have done to the orderly atmosphere at the military academy on Carida, and repressed a shudder. The Empire had enough to deal with as it was.

No, she was far from helpless, this wayward girl he had brought with him from the Death Star's destruction. She did have an air of fragility -- or at least she cultivated one -- but it was becoming rapidly apparent to him that she was about as fragile as a durasteel blast door.

The impulse which had led him to retrieve her from the detention block was now beginning to seem like madness. But even though he had only known her a short time, Bast couldn't imagine her brilliant life force snuffed out, gone along with so many others. Why had he done it, anyway? Surely it would have been much simpler to save himself. But he had reached out to save her despite the risk involved.

It had been her eyes…something in the wide dark eyes that met his as she stood there in shackles. Normally he would never have been called in to deal with a prisoner as minor as she, but he had actually seen Princess Leia in person, and the Intelligence officers who were overseeing her imprisonment wanted visual confirmation this girl was not she. After all, the Rebels had proved tricky on more than one occasion, changing their agents' retinal patterns and fingerprints. He'd known at first glance this prisoner was not Princess Leia -- the coloring was the same, but this girl was taller, more delicate, beautiful where he'd only considered the true princess to be attractive.

"That is not Princess Leia," he'd said, and made a dismissive gesture. The guards had grasped Dhani Wardilow -- though he'd not known her name at the time -- by the arms and hauled her away. But those eyes had haunted him, stayed in some hidden corner of his mind until the imminent destruction of the battle station forced him to action.

As he accepted another glass of wine from the Sub-Governor's wife, Bast caught a quick sidelong glance from Dhani while her admiring audience chuckled over something she had just said. The corners of her dark eyes were crinkled in amusement, and in her borrowed finery she barely resembled the waifish prisoner in oversized inmate garb he had rescued less than half a standard day earlier. She had not asked to be saved, yet here she was.

She had not begged, nor had she pleaded. As she had stood in the guard station of the detention block, she had regarded Bast with an odd species of wary resignation. It was too much to expect kindness from him, or from any other of her captors, but she had not faced him with fear.

Now, even as he watched her, he had a sudden, random flash from a hunting expedition he had undertaken some years earlier while on leave. Baron General Tagge had invited him to Tepasi for a hunt, and of course Bast had accepted, as the general's homeworld boasted a number of worthy predators. Unfortunately, they had been saddled on the hunt with one of Tagge's nephews, a young man who possessed far more enthusiasm than wit. During the hunt the boy almost shot off his own foot, gave their position away on three separate occasions, and in general managed to destroy any hope Bast might have retained that he would actually enjoy the expedition.

But the worst of it had been the female _lirrin_. Delicate herd creatures, _lirrin_ inhabited the plain lands of Tepasi, and normally Bast found them to be good hunting, elusive and stunningly fleet of foot. But it had been springtime, and that fool of a boy of course hadn't been able to tell the difference between a _lirrin_-buck and a doe heavy with young. He had shot her, and she had gone crashing into a thick tangle of underbrush. When at last they found her, she was lying on her side, the life draining out of her in a black trail of blood. She had stared up at Bast with dark eyes that held no hope, no belief in mercy. Her shining golden flanks rose and fell as she panted out her last breaths. And Bast, knowing there was nothing else he could do, had raised his hunting blaster and shot her between the eyes, releasing her from her pain.

It had been that same look in Dhani Wardilow's eyes, back in the detention block on the Death Star…a resignation which recognized no hope of rescue. He couldn't do anything to save that poor dying beast on Tepasi, but he knew the young woman's face would have haunted his nightmares if he hadn't tried to spare her life.

Well, now her life had been returned to her -- and damned if he knew what she meant to do with it. She had certainly proved to be quite resilient. The wary look was long gone from her eyes. If he hadn't seen it for himself, he wouldn't have thought her capable of such an expression. Or had it all been another act, Dhani presenting the face she thought he and the guards would have wanted to see? What she might have hoped to accomplish with such dissembling, Bast couldn't begin to guess. A trip to the detention block was inevitably a one-way ticket. All the meekness in the galaxy wouldn't have convinced them to free her.

Her voice brought him out of his reverie. "Don't you think so, General?"

He felt himself jerk slightly at being addressed. "I beg your pardon?"

Dhani smiled and then gave a wry little shrug. "I fear the good general has more important things on his mind than my tedious theories. Isn't that right, General?"

Since he had no idea what she was talking about, Bast replied, in his most neutral tones, "I fear Lady Tarkin enjoys a jest at my expense."

"Not at all, General." Her right eyebrow lifted. "I was just assuring these gentlemen that the Rebels are no great threat, and that I'm confident my father will have them in hand in no time. Isn't that right?"

She was enjoying this far too much -- of that he was certain. But Bast knew of course he could not disagree with her in front of the company assembled there, so he said, "The Emperor places great faith in Governor Tarkin, as do we all."

Sub-Governor Janning lifted his glass. "Hear, hear! I say we all toast the Grand Moff, who ensures the continuing safety of those of us in the Rim."

_Sycophantic fool_, Bast thought, but he raised his glass anyway. Why should he expect the Sub-Governor to do anything less than toady to the woman he thought was the Grand Moff's daughter? Opportunities for advancement such as this didn't come along all that often, especially for someone trapped in a backwater world like Odos. A few choice words whispered by Lady Tarkin into the right ear could bring a man all the way to Coruscant, if he played his cards right.

All around the table glass were lifted, and the Grand Moff's health was drunk. A little late for that, Bast reflected, considering the honoree of the toast had been scattered into his component atoms. If they were lucky, the ship would be repaired quickly, and he and Dhani would be well on their way before their benefactors realized Governor Tarkin was no longer in any position to grant favors to anyone.

No sooner had Bast set his glass back down on the table, however, than one of the Sub-Governor's aides scurried in and whispered urgently into his superior's ear. Sub-Governor Janning's eyes widened, and some of the color drained out of his florid cheeks. Then he glanced over at Dhani, and his mouth tightened.

Ever perceptive, she set down her glass and asked him, "Is there something wrong, Governor Janning?"

He started, then attempted to recover by saying, "Well, I've just heard -- that is, I believe -- " He appeared to gather himself, and finished, "Perhaps you and I should have a word in private."

Her eyes, wide and guileless, focused on the Sub-Governor. "Is there something wrong with our ship?"

"No -- no, nothing of the sort."

"Is it something I might assist with?" Bast inquired. He had a feeling he knew all too well what news the sub-governor's aide might have brought him, and Bast wanted to make sure he was included in any conversation with Dhani that might ensue. If nothing else, he wanted to see for himself just how good her simulation of grief actually was.

"Well, erm -- " The Sub-Governor looked at Bast as if really seeing him for the first time. "Yes, well, of course, what I have to say concerns both of you, naturally. If you and Lady Tarkin might accompany me to my office?" He rose and addressed the other guests at the table. "If you will excuse us -- urgent business -- "

Major Trent looked irked at being excluded from the conversation, but he merely said, "Of course." No doubt he wished to avoid making a scene in front of the Grand Moff's daughter.

Gracefully Dhani stood, and gave the assembly an apologetic little smile. "Forgive me -- it appears Sub-Governor Janning has need of me for a little while. Don't let our departure interrupt your meal." She gave Janning an inquiring look. "If you will lead us to your office, Governor?"

"Of course."

The three of them exited the dining chamber and made their way down a long corridor that terminated in an old-fashioned elevator. Apparently, Odos didn't rate repulsorlifts. As the elevator jerked its way up to the second floor, Bast risked a quick glance down at Dhani, trying to ascertain whether she had surmised the nature of their unscheduled meeting with the sub-governor. He guessed she had; she gave him a surreptitious nod and then looked away, her face placid and only mildly curious.

The office was large and shabby, furnished with a comm console now at least three or four models out of date. Stacks of flimsiplast covered the desk of yellowish native wood, and a few half-hearted lumas glowed from the walls.

Not the best place to be delivering the sort of shattering news the sub-governor had to impart. It seemed Janning realized this as well; he bustled about nervously, pulling out a seat for Dhani but quite forgetting to offer one to Bast. Not that he would have taken it; he felt it better to take his position slightly to the right of Dhani's chair and wait there, hands clasped behind his waist, shoulders back in the old Academy stance that still came to him like second nature.

Bast's formal posture seemed to throw the Sub-Governor even more off-kilter. He retreated behind his desk, shifted a pile of flimsiplast from one corner of the old-fashioned blotter to another, fiddled with the stylus of his datapad, and then finally appeared to work up the nerve to look Dhani in the face. "My lady, I have just received most distressing news."

Instead of replying, she merely tilted her head to one side and waited.

Janning's gaze flickered to Bast for a second, and then he returned his attention to the young woman seated before him. He swallowed. "It seems the Death Star battle station has been lost with all crew…and that includes your father."

Silence then, broken only by a faint sibilant noise Bast realized was the forced air of the overworked conditioning units blowing through the vent above the Sub-Governor's desk.

Dhani straightened in her chair; even in the dim light Bast could see the color drain from her cheeks. Her lower lip gave the faintest of telltale quivers, but her voice sounded firm enough when she spoke. "How do you know this?"

"My lady, the news came from an unimpeachable source -- one of my contacts on Gyndine. No doubt the entire sector knows about it by now."

Her hands knotted in her lap. For the first time, Bast realized she wore borrowed gold on her fingers as well. "How?" she asked, in the same calm, cold voice. But was that a glint of unshed tears he spied tangled in her lashes?

"Destroyed -- by the Rebellion."

"How is that possible? The Death Star was the greatest battle station ever built. The Rebels could never muster enough firepower to -- "

Janning seemed to muster the courage to interrupt. "My lady, I do not have all the details at this time. Very likely no one knows for certain yet how it happened." He hesitated. "I am very sorry for your loss."

At his words, her shoulders squared, and Dhani lifted her chin. "My loss, and the rest of the Empire's." Then she looked away from the sub-governor and over at Bast. "General, it seems my journey was in vain. What now?"

Taking his cue, Bast stepped forward and directed his reply to Governor Janning. "It is more imperative than ever that our ship be fixed with all haste. I must see that Lady Tarkin is returned safely to Coruscant."

"Of course," Janning said at once. "I will see to it personally."

Dhani stood. "Thank you, Governor. Now I think it would be best if I returned to my quarters. General?"

And Bast went to her, offering his arm. She took it, leaning upon him as if she barely had the strength to walk out of the office, even though she kept her head high. The sub-governor followed them back out to the hallway; there was no need to use the elevator, as the rooms they had been given were on this same floor, although located at the opposite end of the corridor.

They stopped outside the door to Dhani's suite. Janning began, "If there is anything more I can do -- "

"Make my apologies to your guests, Governor," Dhani said. "General, if you would come with me?"

Knowing he couldn't refuse, Bast inclined his head and then trailed after Dhani as she entered her room. She palmed the door lock, waited a few seconds, and then began to laugh.

"So," she said, her dark eyes dancing. "Do you think he bought it?"


	3. Chapter 3

Hey, look -- I'm not dead! I'm very sorry for the horribly long delay in updating this story. While I do go on hiatus from time to time, I usually do manage to finish what I start. This time I got busy writing two novel-length pieces, one fanfic and one original, and the time sort of got away from me. Thank you for your patience!

* * *

III

_Bought it?_ Bast thought. _I think he would have taken out a loan for future shares if he could._ However, he certainly didn't want to give Dhani any more encouragement for her epic prevarications than was strictly necessary.

"The Sub-Governor does appear to believe your story," he allowed. As her dark eyes lit up and a grin began to tug at the corners of her mouth, he added, in repressive tones, "For now. However, the longer we are trapped here, the more risk we run of your story being revealed for the complete pack of lies it is."

To his dismay, the grin gave no sign of retreating. "Does that bother you, General? Has your own life been such a model of truthfulness and plain dealing that even a few white lies -- told purely to keep us safe -- are enough to make you uncomfortable?"

How could he possibly answer that question? He had done what was necessary throughout his professional career. In some cases, that meant he had stepped on the backs of those he considered lesser than himself, or had burnished reports to make his own contributions look more commendable. Certainly these sins were minor compared to those committed by many of his fellow officers, but now, as he looked down into Dhani Wardilow's expectant face, he found it difficult to defend what he had done. At least her lies, as she had said, were based on simple self-preservation. That didn't change the fact that they now teetered on a precipice.

"By going along with your charade, I've made myself complicit in it," he replied, after a significant pause.

At last the grin faltered, as his words appeared to sink in. She moved away from him and went to the dressing table, where she began to pull the borrowed rings from her fingers. Not looking at him, she said, "I'm sorry."

He wasn't sure he'd heard her correctly. "I beg your pardon?"

She turned toward him then, a small frown creasing her delicate brows. "I didn't stop to think -- that is, I could tell that you didn't have a real story to give them about who I was, or why I would be with you. So I came up with the Breha Tarkin idea. I suppose I panicked."

"That didn't look like panic to me." On the contrary -- her performance out on the shuttle's docking ramp had all the appearances of something she'd been preparing for some time.

"I assure you, it was." She reached up to undo the clasp of her necklace, but seemed to be having some trouble with it. For a second Bast considered offering to help. But then her hands lifted, and off came the heavy piece of wrought gold. He felt a small pang, then wondered at himself. Was he really disappointed because he'd lost the opportunity to touch the smooth skin at the back of her neck, if even for a second or two?

_Too much wine with dinner_, he thought. _Or possibly temporary insanity._

Dhani did seem to have that effect on people.

He cleared his throat. "At any rate, what's been done can't be undone. As I said earlier, our best hope is that the shuttle can be repaired quickly and that we can be on our way before anyone suspects anything."

"On our way," she repeated. This time her eyes did meet his. He thought he saw worry there for the first time. "You still haven't said where that will be."

Should he tell her the truth, let her know that his delay in discussing their next step was because he himself was unsure of their destination? Any notion of a speedy journey to Coruscant with his data in hand had been effectively destroyed when the hyperspace drive on his ship malfunctioned. Every minute that passed made him less relevant…and his alibis less useful.

His damaged shuttle would provide something of an excuse, but he had no idea whether that would be enough to avoid further inquiry. The Emperor was not known to be overly accepting of excuses.

"Where would you like to go?" he inquired.

The question surprised her, he could tell. Her eyes widened, and her mouth parted slightly. Then she shut it again just as quickly, and shook her head. "Any world where I'd want you to take me would present a difficulty -- they're not known for being sympathetic to the Empire. But Alderaan, I suppose, if I have a choice. It's the closest thing I have to a home these days."

At first he wasn't sure he'd heard her correctly. But then a wave of pity washed over him as he realized that of course she'd been incarcerated when Alderaan was destroyed. She had no way of knowing that an entire planet had gone down into the dark, another victim of Wilhuf Tarkin's compulsive bids for power.

"I'm afraid that's impossible," he replied. Under different circumstances he might not have taken care to temper his tone, but again he saw that wariness in her gaze, that sense she somehow knew she was trapped. "Dhani, Alderaan no longer exists. Grand Moff Tarkin destroyed the planet in an attempt to have Princess Leia reveal the location of the Rebel base."

She went very still, one hand at her now-bare throat. "That's impossible."

"Unfortunately, it was very possible." Ever since that hideous moment when he had seen the glare of Alderaan's death, he'd wished he could somehow un-see it, but that hope was a futile one. If asked, he would have said that the Empire had every right to rein in obstreperous planets such as Alderaan…but by the accepted methods of embargoes and increased system patrols, or, as a last resort, establishing permanent garrisons and removing the local government. But to annihilate a world, to kill everything that walked and lived and breathed on its surface? That was beyond the pale.

Of course he had known better than to speak to anyone of his misgivings. Perhaps he had simply clung to the misguided belief that the Empire would never actually use such a hideous weapon as the Death Star. Its mere existence should have been deterrent enough.

_Enough_, he thought. _Yes, enough to finally spur the Rebels to outright confrontation. They understood what I refused to acknowledge -- that it was only a matter of when, not if, the Death Star was used against a populated world._

"To destroy a world," she whispered. "To kill everyone on a planet, just to coerce someone into divulging information? It's insane."

Was Tarkin insane? Bast supposed some people might have viewed his relentless ambition as insanity. It was a somewhat terrifying thing to witness…rather like being at the base of a cliff while watching an avalanche sweep inexorably toward you. "Perhaps some would think so," he said carefully. "At any rate, it was a pointless gesture, since Princess Leia did not betray the location of the hidden fortress, even with the destruction of her home world hanging over her."

A flash of true anger revealed itself on Dhani's face. It took a moment for Bast to recognize it for what it was, since so much of what she did and said seemed to be cloaked in careful artifice. Swiftly following on the heels of that anger was a look of disgust, this one leveled directly at him.

"'Pointless'?" she repeated. Tears glittered in her eyes once more, and this time he somehow knew they weren't forced. "Is that all you have to say, when an entire world is gone? All those people -- "

"Dhani, I -- " He found himself reaching out toward her in an instinctive gesture, and forced his hands to curl themselves into impotent fists at his side. Just as well, since he'd seen her flinch at his abortive movement. Voice hardening, he said, "I did not support Grand Moff Tarkin's decision to destroy Alderaan. But to voice my doubts would have been career suicide. And my dissent would have changed nothing. The Grand Moff's power was nigh absolute -- the only two who could have interfered are Lord Vader or the Emperor himself, and I doubt that either of them cared much about Alderaan's fate. Most likely they saw its value mainly as an example of what can happen to those who defy the Empire's will."

For a moment she said nothing, but only stared at him out of those wet-ringed dark eyes. Her cheeks were pale beneath the carefully applied cosmetics.

What else could he say? Of course he'd done nothing to stop Alderaan's destruction. There was nothing he could have done. Those bare facts didn't seem to have convinced Dhani. Come to think of it, he wasn't exactly basking in the glow of his own self-righteousness. Why, when he knew intellectually that he was guilty of no crime except the bad fortune to be stationed on the Death Star, did he feel as if the blood of all those dead Alderaanians was on his hands?

He was spared from further soul-searching by the chime at the door. He moved to answer it, since Dhani remained where she was, cold and still as a statue.

The sub-governor's pasty-faced attaché waited outside. "I'm sorry to disturb you, sir, but Sub-Governor Janning said I should come up to see you right away."

Bast stifled an inward groan. "Is something wrong?"

The younger man's face looked even more pasty, if that were possible. "Our techs just completed their diagnosis on your shuttle's hyperdrive system. Unfortunately, the motivator is completely shot. It has to be replaced, but we don't have the spare parts here on Odos." His gaze shifted to Dhani, to her stricken face, and he swallowed. "This is a bad time, isn't it?"

Actually, Bast thought the attaché's timing was perfect. He'd caught a glimpse of Dhani's very real grief, and the interruption had broken off what was turning into an exceedingly uncomfortable conversation.

"Lady Tarkin is, as you might imagine, rather overwrought at the moment," he said. "As you know, it's imperative that I get her to Coruscant as quickly as possible. Is there no other ship here I might requisition for that purpose?"

The attaché straightened. "Yes, sir. That's actually why I'm here. Sub-Governor Janning is well aware of the urgency of your situation and offers you his ship as transport to Coruscant. It's not as well-equipped as your shuttle, but -- "

"As long as it gets us there, commander," Bast cut in. At this point, he'd take the most battered YT-class freighter in the quadrant if it meant they could be out of this backwater in the near future.

Suddenly Dhani was there besides him, damp eyes glowing, her face a perfect picture of tremulous relief. "That is so generous of the sub-governor," she said. "Please tell him that I'll be sure to inform the right people of his generosity."

"Th -- thank you, my lady," the young man stammered. "Is there anything else you need?"

"As you know, the pirates that attacked us took everything," she replied. With a gesture toward the borrowed dress she wore, she continued, "This gown is lovely, but if a few changes of more practical clothing could be spared, I would be most appreciative."

"Of course, my lady. I'll see to it at once." He sketched a short bow, then stopped, as if unsure as to whether that was the correct response.

While his awkwardness was somewhat amusing, Bast felt it was time to put the man out of his misery. "Can everything be readied within the next hour? We haven't any more time to lose."

"I -- I think so, sir. I'll see to Lady Tarkin's request, and after that all should be prepared."

"Excellent," he said. "That is all, commander." And he palmed the lock and turned to Dhani, who no longer appeared to be the grieving daughter. To his dismay, the impish look was back in her eyes. He demanded, "Pirates?"

"That's what I told the sub-governor. I had to have some sort of story as to why I didn't have any proper clothes." If anything, that devilish glint intensified. "Don't look at me like that. At least this way I get some clean underwear."

***

"I'm thinking the sub-governor got the better part in this deal," Dhani said, after giving the shabby cabin a quick once-over. Like the rest of Odos, the shuttle appeared to be at least two generations behind most of the galaxy in terms of its technology.

"It's a ship, isn't it?" replied Bast, who looked decidedly testy.

"Yes," she allowed, "barely."

"Then sit down and fasten your safety harness."

He didn't add, _and be quiet_, but he might as well have. She figured she might as well do as he said -- if nothing else, she wanted off Odos as soon as possible, and if they had to do it in this cramped little shuttle, then so be it.

Without further comment, she seated herself in the co-pilot's chair and wrestled with the unfamiliar harness for a moment as Bast went through the standard preflight checkup. Tension showed in the tight lines of his jaw and his compressed mouth. No surprise -- he'd had a bit of a tussle with the sub-governor over whether one of Janning's men should pilot the shuttle to Coruscant, and she'd watched with some amusement as he trotted out a series of excuses as to why the offered pilot wasn't necessary. Luckily Bast had come out ahead in that particular disagreement, but it had cost them further delay.

By then it was the middle of the night, Odos time. Dhani had thought she would be more tired, but for some reason she felt keyed-up and tense, the way she did after too many cups of caf. Perhaps she was merely picking up on some of Bast's urgency; ever since word had come that they would have take the sub-governor's shuttle he'd been pushing to get them off Odos before any more precious time elapsed. True, they were playing a dangerous game, and all it would take was one Imperial agent who actually knew the score to land here and expose her lies.

That worry wasn't as ludicrous as it appeared on first examination; Odos was one of the populated systems closest to Yavin and the Death Star's graveyard. It didn't take any particular genius to realize that the Empire probably had investigators already fanning out to track down any Rebels still in the area.

She hadn't been able to continue her discussion with Bast as to exactly where they might be headed. At this point it hardly mattered. Where was she supposed to go, anyway? Commenor was out of the question. And Alderaan --

At the thought of her adopted home world's destruction, a sudden tightness took hold of her throat. Somehow it was impossible to imagine that a place of such beauty and culture and peace could be obliterated in the blink of an eye. If such an abhorrent action didn't make every citizen of the galaxy sit up and finally realize how evil the Empire actually was, she didn't know what would.

And all he'd said was that it was "pointless." Dhani thought that comment probably qualified for understatement of the year. He'd looked so damn calm, too, as if he'd had nothing to do with it. Can't protest, of course! Might endanger that healthy Imperial pension plan. Then again, part of the reason Imperial pensions were so impressive was that very few people managed to survive long enough to collect them.

She frowned, staring ahead through the yellowed forward viewport so she wouldn't have to look at General Bast. He seemed to be ignoring her anyway, although of course at the moment he was somewhat preoccupied. The familiar thrum of warming sublight engines surrounded her. In this case the vibration sounded a little rough, as if the shuttle was in desperate need of a good tune-up.

Well, it wouldn't be the first time she'd traveled on a ship that probably wouldn't pass a proper safety inspection. The sub-governor had sworn up and down that his mechanics kept the shuttle travel-worthy at all times, but Dhani found that difficult to believe. Maybe he just had a different concept of travel-worthy than she did.

She'd left Commenor on a ship not so different from this one. Back then she'd been certain the Rebellion would make short work of the Empire -- the bureaucracy was top-heavy and slow, the people it had trodden on for decades sullen and increasingly restive. But the years had trickled by, and although the Rebels had had small victories here and there, nothing had been decisive.

Until now. Until the Death Star.

At least it had been destroyed. At least no other worlds would suffer the same fate as Alderaan. Beautiful Alderaan, home to mountains and rivers of astonishing beauty, of cities that defied gravity as they scaled those mountainsides. It had been so different from stodgy, gray Commenor.

And now it was gone.

The darkness outside the viewport began to move. Bast worked silently at the unfamiliar controls, face intent as he maneuvered the ship up out of its docking bay. Dhani found herself watching his movements out of the corner of her eye, despite her intention to not look at him at all.

It would be easier if she could hate him. But somehow she couldn't find it in herself to do so. Hate the Empire, yes. That was easy. But it hadn't been his hand that activated the Death Star's destructive ray, nor was it his command to do so in the first place. As he'd tried to tell her, what could he have possibly done? Anyone foolish enough to openly defy the Grand Moff would be lucky to merely end up in an Imperial penal colony for the rest of his life.

The shuttle rose above the clouds and broke forward into the darkness of space. Odos had no moon, and the starfield around them was of course completely unfamiliar.

Silence for a moment, as she watched Bast tap coordinates into the nav-computer.

"So where are we going?" she asked.

"Chandrila," he replied, not looking up. "I thought it the safest place to take you, now that Alderaan -- " And he broke off.

Was that a flash of guilt she saw in his face then, before the usual Imperial mask slipped into place? She'd spent a good deal of effort learning to read other people's expressions; it was a useful skill for anyone in the Rebellion, but especially for someone like her. Too often she'd had to take the cues for her own behavior from the gestures and facial tics of those around her, simply because she had very little intelligence to go on in a given situation.

At any rate, she hazarded a guess that General Bast wasn't feeling exactly happy about the Alderaan situation, despite his Imperial affiliation. She had to give him grudging credit for that. She'd known too many Imperials who would have simply shrugged and said the people of Alderaan had brought it on themselves through their seditious behavior.

But Bast's thoughts apparently ran in deeper channels. How he could have achieved the rank of Grand Moff's adjutant while holding on to any morals at all puzzled her, but she supposed for now she'd have to simply be thankful that he differed enough from others of his ilk to still have a small acquaintance with the difference between right and wrong.

Besides, he'd just offered to take her to Chandrila, a world where he would definitely be persona non grata. Not to mention the fact that Chandrila was halfway across the galaxy and not nearly as accessible as a hundred other worlds where he could have simply dropped her off and been done with it.

"Are you sure?" she asked. "It's a long way from here -- "

"I know that," he replied. The grim set to his mouth altered subtly, and he added, "I fear the only way to make sure you're absolutely safe is to take you all the way there."

She had the impression he was mocking her ability to take care of herself and felt her own lips thin, just the smallest bit. Protesting that she could do just fine on her own probably wouldn't do much good, however. After all, Bast had rescued her from an Imperial detention facility. It wasn't as if they'd met at a tap-café or a local bazaar.

Instead, she asked, "Can this rust bucket even get us that far?"

His answer was a lift of the shoulders. After making another arcane adjustment to the ship's controls, he said, "I think so. However, it's not set up for long-range hyperspace jumps. We'll have to hopscotch."

Dhani raised her brows.

This time he almost smiled. Almost. "Pilot slang. It means we'll have to make a series of short hops from system to system. We'll come out of hyperspace briefly, readjust our coordinates, then head off on the next leg of the journey. It will slow us down, of course, but we should still be at Chandrila within the next two standard days."

Two days trapped in this bucket of bolts? She didn't like the sound of that, but reflected at least she had enough clean clothes to get her through the ordeal. Unfortunately, the sub-governor's staff, while outfitting them with food and water and other consumables, hadn't bothered with such intangibles as entertainment. The little shuttle had no vid-players, and not even a datapad that she could at least use for reading. Bast didn't appear to have one of his own, most likely because he'd escaped the Death Star with the uniform on his back and not much else.

No vids, no books, no music. Well, that left just one thing.

She turned toward him and asked, "So what made you want to join the Imperial Army?"

A long pause. Then Bast lifted his head from the console, gave her a surprised glance, and said, "I beg your pardon?"

"Well, was it a boyhood dream to see the galaxy? The uniforms? The desire to crush helpless populations beneath your booted feet? What?"

The look of incredulity never left his face. "What in the galaxy are you going on about?"

She crossed her arms and threw him one of her most dazzling smiles. It didn't seem to have much effect, save that he blinked once before returning his attention to the pilot's console.

Well, really. Dhani knew how good that smile was. It had weakened the knees of better men than General Moradmin Bast.

Nettled, she said, "It's called conversation. It's what people do. Especially people who're stuck together in rickety old spaceships with nothing else to occupy their time."

"Ah."

"If you were planning on being this antisocial, at the very least you could have asked Sub-Governor Janning for a vid unit."

His expression in profile didn't reveal much, although his mouth quirked a little. In calm tones, he said, "Perhaps I didn't have the opportunity. After all, you were quite busy asking him for clothing and toiletries and…unmentionables."

"All necessary items, I assure you." She wasn't about to detail the horrible conditions in the detention block to someone so obviously unsympathetic. The shower she'd taken at the sub-governor's palace had been heaven, and clean clothes almost as sublime. After an experience such as that, changes of clothing and underwear ranked very high on the priority list.

"Of course," he murmured. Still not looking at her, he said, "We're about four hours out from our first stop. I would propose that sleep might be a more profitable exercise than conversation."

His inflection had remained mild as he delivered this suggestion, but Dhani had the feeling he was not in the mood for arguments. Very well; if he had so little need for her company, then she'd remove herself from his presence.

"I am getting a little tired," she said. She didn't add _of you_, but the words seemed to hang in the cabin between them.

Without further comment, she unbuckled herself from the safety harness and made her way toward the rear of the ship, where a small sleeping compartment was located. The mattress was lumpy and the blanket not much better, but it felt surprisingly good to lie down and close her eyes. Perhaps she was more weary than she had thought. Damn him -- Bast had been right.

It seemed darkness had barely settled on her before she sat up. The ship had given a slight shudder, which must have been what woke her. She blinked again the light filtering in through the open door from the hallway. It hadn't been a sharp shock like the one that had yanked Bast's shuttle from hyperspace. No, this must have been the normal reemergence into normal space. They'd reached the first of their hopscotch points.

Dhani pushed the blanket aside and stood. She'd only made it halfway down the corridor when the ship bucked again, this time like a recalcitrant bantha. From up ahead, she could hear Bast curse, and she hurried the rest of the way to the cabin.

"What was that?" she demanded.

"Laser cannon," he replied.

"Someone's shooting at us?"

"Astute observation. Yes, someone is shooting at us. And this damnable boat has the most inadequate shields I've seen in a long time."

Greenish fire splatted against the starboard edge of the front viewport. She let out a yelp and backed away. Not that that would do much good if their attackers managed to blow a hole in the bulkhead.

"Where are we?" she asked, willing her voice to remain calm. There wasn't much she could do to take back that startled little yowl she had just made, but at least she could redeem herself by not allowing any further displays of terror.

"Nim Drovis," he replied.

The name sounded vaguely familiar, but she couldn't place it at the moment. "Can't we just jump right back out into hyperspace?"

"The nav-computer is as slow as the rest of the ship. We need more time." Grim-faced, he typed a few more commands into the console.

Time was definitely something they didn't have. "Is there anything I can do?"

Bast shook his head. "I don't think -- "

The comm crackled to life, interrupting his words. "Imperial vessel, this is the independent free trader _Westwind_. You are in violation of Nim Drovis space. Prepare to stand down and be boarded."

"Independent free trader?" Dhani echoed.

"A polite way of saying 'pirate,' I think." He turned to the comm and flicked a switch. "_Westwind_, this is shuttle _Odosian II_. We are a properly licensed vessel on Imperial business. I demand that you allow us to continue on our way."

A low chuckle drifted from the comm speaker. "You are in a position to demand nothing, _Odosian II_. Stand down, or we'll blow your crate right out of space."

For one long, agonizing moment, Bast said nothing. Dhani could almost hear his thoughts darting here and there, searching for some possible escape route and finding none. Then he straightened and said, "Standing down, _Westwind_."

"Wise of you. Remain in position."

The comm went silent. Out the forward viewport, she saw the slightly bulbous shape of a Corellian corvette move into view. The screen darkened as the larger ship moved overhead and blocked the light of Nim Drovis' sun.

Bast turned away from the control console and then stood. He didn't look overly frightened. If anything, she would have said his current expression was one of supreme annoyance.

He crossed his arms and said, "You just had to mention pirates, didn't you?"


	4. Chapter 4

See, not so long a wait this time! Usually I try to publish a chapter a week unless life gets totally insane. Thank you for your reviews! I really appreciate it when people give stories with the lesser-known characters a chance.

* * *

IV

They looked far too clean-cut to be pirates. And their movements, while not as crisp and efficient as those of men who had graduated from an Imperial training facility, were still not quite sloppy enough for the freebooters they claimed to be.

Bast remained silent as the four men completed their survey of the little shuttle. Dhani, surprisingly following his lead for once, stood quiet at his side.

At length the one who seemed to be in charge paused in front of Bast. "General, huh?" he commented, after taking in the rank insignia on Bast's chest.

"Yes." Presumably they would ask for name and serial number next, but he saw no point in volunteering any more information than he had to.

The man's dark eyes narrowed. "I'd sort of expect a person with your rank to be flying in something with a little more class."

"Yes, I expect you would."

The stranger didn't appear to take offense. "Not sure whether it's even worth keeping, but we'll let Vandemar make the decision." He gestured, and the three other men surrounded Dhani and Bast. She sent him a brief questioning look, and he nodded ever so slightly. Resistance at this point would be worse than useless. Better to meet with this unknown Vandemar person and see if they couldn't make some kind of deal.

Exactly what type of deal, Bast couldn't be certain. As he followed the leader of the boarding party across the gangway connecting the two ships, he reflected that he had very little to bargain with. The ship was worth next to nothing. He had no cash on hand, no valuables to convince the pirates -- if that was even what they were -- to allow him and Dhani to walk away with their lives. And he didn't want to think about what they might do with Dhani. Slavery still thrived in the Outer Rim, and a beautiful young woman could be a tempting prize. To have rescued her from the destruction of the Death Star, only to have her taken in such a way --

But it hadn't happened, and he knew he would do everything in his power to keep her safe. This lot didn't seem overly threatening; perhaps all they wanted was the ship, and he and Dhani would be left on Nim Drovis to make their way to Chandrila as best they could. Not the most optimal of situations, but certainly better than the host of other dark fates he could contemplate.

The _Westwind_ appeared to be in excellent shape, its corridors clean and shining. The few crewmembers he spotted wore similar dark, close-fitting clothing. Not uniforms precisely, but attire which still gave that sort of impression. All in all, it looked as unlike a "free trader" as possible, and he wondered again who these people really were.

They stopped at the end of a hallway. Their guide and captor palmed the lock, then stepped aside. "He's waiting for you."

That didn't sound very promising, but they had no alternative but to go in, Bast leading the way, Dhani a step behind him. Somehow she'd managed to keep her mouth shut during the journey here. He could only hope she would continue to do so. Somehow he had the idea that these men wouldn't take the whole "Breha Tarkin" act very well. Not to mention the fact that passing herself off as a highly connected young woman would most likely lead to thoughts of ransom. That wouldn't do at all. Kidnappers tended to get disgruntled when faced with the discovery that their captive actually wasn't worth that much after all.

A man who appeared to be some years younger than Bast himself rose as they entered. Like the rest of the crewmembers on the ship, he, too, wore close-fitting black clothes. For a second his gaze rested on Bast, then flickered downward to Dhani. Their eyes met, and he let out a shocked exclamation as she darted forward with a laugh.

"Rafi!" To Bast's dismay, she threw her arms around the stranger, even as he lifted her up and swung her around. Once she was back on her feet, she planted her hands on her hips and inquired, "Vandemar? That's a new one."

He shrugged. "You're a fine one to be talking about assumed names." Then he looked from her back over to Bast. "Interesting choice in travel companions."

Bast didn't like the overly familiar way the two were interacting, and he liked even less the look of intense dislike this Rafi had just shot in his direction. But he'd had years of practice in hiding his feelings and returned the younger man's glare with an impassive stare that probably did little to improve his mood.

"Rafi," Dhani said in warning tones, "I'll have you know that General Bast here is the only reason I'm still alive."

Vandemar's expression sobered abruptly. "When there was no word after Commenor -- "

"Yes, that's when the Imps caught up with me."

How Bast hated that epithet. He could feel a frown etching its way into his forehead and did his best to smooth it away. He was a fool to think that this brief time in his presence had been enough to change Dhani's very low opinion of the Empire.

If that were even possible.

She went on, "Just my luck that Tarkin's folly happened to be in the neighborhood. I spent a few weeks cooling my heels in one of the Death Star's detention blocks."

At this statement a shocked exclamation left Vandemar's lips. "Force help you! That's not a place I'd expect anyone to escape."

"I wouldn't have, if it weren't for General Bast here." The note of gratitude in her voice seemed to be genuine enough, as was the quick smile she threw in his direction before turning back to Vandemar. "It was a very close call, but we made it. However, our shuttle was damaged, which is why we're traveling in that rustbucket. I suppose we should be grateful to Sub-Governor Janning for giving us a ship at all, but as a reliable mode of transportation it leaves a lot to be desired."

Conflicting emotions seemed to be warring on Rafi Vandemar's face. While he appeared to be grateful that Dhani was alive, Bast could tell he was attempting to puzzle out why a high-ranking Imperial officer would rescue a lovely young woman from a maximum-security holding cell. By the other man's expression, Bast guessed that Vandemar figured it wasn't for any altruistic reason.

_And that's where you would be wrong, my friend_, Bast thought. Although his motivations for rescuing Dhani were far from simple, they certainly didn't involve the sort of nefarious schemes Vandemar probably suspected him of.

"Where are you headed?" he asked, in tones more neutral than Bast had expected.

"Chandrila," Dhani said promptly.

Her reply made Vandemar look even more confused. No doubt he was trying to understand why an Imperial officer would make one of the galaxy's most Rebel-leaning planets his destination.

"I doubt they'd look for me there," she continued. "And it's the perfect place to figure out my next step. I'm sure Mon -- "

At once Vandemar held up a hand. "That's enough, Dhani," he said. "I'm not sure it's wise to discuss this any further in front of your travel companion."

Bast repressed the urge to reply that he probably knew far more about the Rebellion and its leaders than Vandemar realized. Yes, Dhani's words had been cut off, but Bast was quite sure she'd been about to mention Mon Mothma, the Chandrilan woman who had been a thorn in the Emperor's side for far too long. Dhani was quite misguided in thinking she'd be able to contact Mon Mothma on Chandrila, however. The leader of the Rebellion was much like one of the stinging gnats that populated the marshes of Felucia -- mostly invisible, and prone to swooping in and inflicting a painful wound, then disappearing before she could be swatted away. There wasn't a chance in the galaxy that she would be found anywhere near her home world. That would be too easy.

Dhani's expression darkened. "I trust General Bast with my life. I wouldn't be alive today if it weren't for him."

"If you trust him with your life, fine." Vandemar shrugged. "But I don't trust him with any of my secrets." He turned toward Bast. "No offense, General."

"None taken," Bast replied. Although he had little reason to like the man, he knew that if their roles had been reversed he would have been just as cautious.

Vandemar fished a comlink out of his breast pocket. "Felan, come and collect the General and show him to our guest quarters." After closing the link, he gave Bast a grin and said, "Hope you don't mind if I have a few words with Miss Wardilow in private."

Automatically, Bast replied, "Not at all," even though he found he did mind, quite a bit. But he also knew that protesting their separation would be useless and would only serve to make him look ridiculous.

For a few seconds Dhani looked uncertain. Then she came toward him and grasped both his hands in a gesture as welcome as it was surprising. "I won't be very long, General. I promise."

Before he could reply, she had released him and turned away, just as the door whooshed open and another man entered the room. Bast could still feel the gentle pressure of her fingers against his.

"This way, General," said the newcomer, and Bast forced himself to turn away from Dhani and follow the man out of the chamber and down a series of increasingly narrow hallways. They paused in front of an oval hatchway. "Probably not as spacious as what you're used to, but I expect you'll manage." Then he touched the lock next to the door.

"I always do," Bast replied calmly. At least the room he saw before him seemed clean, if somewhat cramped. A Corellian corvette had space for passengers, but its cabins had never been known for their roominess. Still, it was far better than bunking in the brig.

He stepped inside and heard the inevitable whoosh of the repulsor-powered door behind him, signaling he'd been left alone. Well, he'd never been one for idle chit-chat, anyway. Especially with members of the Rebellion.

For he'd known almost immediately that these men were Rebels, despite the lack of recognizable uniforms or any kind of rank insignia. What sort of covert operation they might be running out here, he couldn't hazard a guess. If he recalled correctly, Nim Drovis had no strategic value. It was yet another sub-optimal system catalogued by the Empire and then forgotten.

More troubling than the presence of the _Westwind_ in this system was Dhani's apparent familiarity with its captain. That exuberant greeting seemed to signal the presence of some sort of past relationship. Bast found he didn't like that idea very much at all.

Which was simply foolish. He'd have to be naïve indeed to think that a woman of her undeniable charms didn't have at least one or two former lovers floating around the galaxy. Besides, he had no claim on her, no interest in her that way. Actually, this chance encounter might all be for the best. Dhani could stay here with her Rebel compatriots, and Bast could finally continue his much-delayed trip to Coruscant.

_And if you actually believe all that, I have some swamp land on Tatooine I'd like to sell you_, Bast thought, giving himself a mental kick even as he sat down on the narrow cot closer to the cabin's tiny window. Nim Drovis floated below, a not very prepossessing sphere in mottled shades of green and brown.

No, he did not want Dhani to stay here, logical as such a solution might seem. He didn't much welcome the idea of never seeing her again. True, he had offered to take her to Chandrila, but that world was parsecs away. A lot could happen in the time it would take to travel such vast distances.

Exactly what he expected to happen, he couldn't quite say. Truth be told, she'd already probably taken at least a few standard years off his life with her whole Breha Tarkin impersonation. He was better rid of her.

The stars winked back at him from outside the viewport. Perhaps one of them was Coruscant's or Chandrila's sun, although he rather doubted either one of them was strong enough to be seen at this distance. Thousands of stars crowded the space between this backwater and the Core worlds, one of them the sun to his own home world of Dura-Kahn. He hadn't set foot there in more years than he cared to count; his nieces and nephews were known to him only as a series of ever-changing holos dutifully sent to him by his sisters on the children's respective Life Days.

Why he thought of them now, he couldn't be certain. Perhaps it was merely that for the first time in a very long while, the Empire didn't consume his thoughts. He should have been formulating plans to get himself out of this situation and back someplace where he could deliver his report on the Death Star's destruction. Instead, he was sitting in this cramped little cabin and obsessing over Dhani Wardilow.

Perhaps he would have been better off to leave her in her cell. As soon as the thought crossed his mind, however, he knew it to be both wrong and untrue. Whatever trouble she might get him into -- and he guessed it could be quite a lot -- and no matter what turmoil she might have created in his own mind, he didn't want to imagine her dead along with all the others who had perished in the Death Star's destruction.

Why should her death matter to him so much more than the deaths of all the others who had lost their lives in the shadow of Yavin? They had been loyal servants of the Empire. They had more right to live than someone who openly admitted she was a Rebel agent. But it hadn't been one of his fellow officers or even a crewmember who had come along with him on that shuttle. No, he had instinctively gone to save Dhani.

In that vast edifice of durasteel, with its crowded corridors and bank after bank of crew quarters and mess halls and docking bays, she had been the only thing of beauty. Had some hidden part of his soul finally rebelled against the ruthless ambition he saw around him every day, his compatriots' blind obedience to the will of the Emperor and, by extension, Lord Vader?

He wasn't quite sure he wanted to admit that. Not even to himself.

Restless, he stood and attempted to distract himself with making a cursory examination of the cabin. There wasn't much to see: two inadequate-looking cots with even flimsier bedclothes, an empty chest of drawers, a small 'fresher with a shower unit that looked as if it might accommodate Bast -- if he sucked in his gut and didn't breathe too deeply while he was inside it.

He returned to his post beside the viewport. Not that he expected to see anything much of interest; obviously the Rebels had chosen the Nim Drovis system because it was so far away from the better-traveled shipping lanes. Still, staring out through the slightly yellowed 'port allowed him to turn his direction outward into the emptiness of space instead of focusing on the increasingly hollow contents of his soul.

***

"Seriously, Dhani, what in the galaxy are you doing with that stiff?"

Rafi's derisive tone brought back all the reasons why she had walked away from their liaison a good eighteen standard months ago. An easy enough break-up, she supposed -- she'd been sent on decoy duty to Callonia and hadn't so much formally dropped him as just left without a backward glance. He wasn't stupid; she didn't have to leave a diagram to explain what was going on.

Back then the surname he'd given her was Khanth. She had no idea whether it was the one he'd been born with or just another in a long string of pseudonyms. It probably didn't matter all that much.

She crossed her arms and said, "He's not a stiff. He's a good man."

That response elicited a lifted eyebrow. Rafi did have nice brows -- dark and just slightly arched. Matched the rest of him, she supposed. Polished and handsome and a bit unpredictable. "By what stretch of the imagination could you possibly consider a high-ranking Imperial 'good'?"

"Besides the fact that he saved my life? I don't know -- give me a minute to think."

"Dhani, you're a good actress, but I know you too well to fall for the naïve act."

"I am not being naïve." Perhaps she'd played fast and loose with the truth in the past, but at least for now she saw no reason to be anything but honest with Rafi. At the very least he wouldn't be expecting such frankness from her. It might put him off-balance.

"It doesn't take a theoretical physicist to guess why he might have thought rescuing you would be a good idea."

She tilted her head to one side and gave him a tight-lipped little smile, the one she tended to use when she wanted to convey barely concealed scorn. "If that's the case, Rafi dear, then why hasn't he made a single move on me? We've been alone together enough that I'm sure he could have tried something if he'd been so inclined."

To her satisfaction, he looked a little confused. No doubt he'd been expecting her to admit that she'd expressed her gratitude to Bast with something a little more tangible than a simple "thank you." Of course she would never tell Rafi the thought had crossed her mind, and it was the General who had held himself aloof.

With a lift of the shoulders, Rafi said, "Maybe he's just waiting for the perfect opportunity. How the hell would I know? I do know you can't trust an Imperial any farther than you can throw one…and usually not that much."

She didn't have a snappy comeback to that comment. Rafi's words merely echoed a sentiment she'd expressed on more than one occasion. Somehow, though, Moradmin Bast was different from the Imperials she'd maligned in the past.

"Anyway," Rafi went on, "It doesn't much matter now, I suppose. You're safe here with us. By rights I should throw him in the brig, but I get the feeling you wouldn't like that very much."

"You're right -- I wouldn't," Dhani snapped. Then the full import of his words began to sink in. "You want me to stay here with you?"

"Well, of course." The eyebrow went up again, and he gave her a hard look. "Why wouldn't you?"

Why, indeed. She glanced away from her former lover and instead pretended to focus on the starry panorama in the large viewport past his left shoulder. After all, it was the natural thing to do. While there would be no point in her remaining on the _Westwind_, Rafi could get in contact with other Rebel operatives and make sure she made it safely someplace where her skills could once again be put to use. No point in having poor General Bast drag her all the way to Chandrila when she could just stay here for now.

It all made completely logical sense. So why did she feel a pang at the thought of saying farewell to him now? She should be glad that her predicament could be solved so neatly.

"I think I should discuss this with General Bast," she said at length.

"What the hell for? Since when did you ask anyone's permission for anything? I know you weren't too up for discussion when you left to go to Callonia."

He couldn't be holding that against her, not after all this time. Besides, he'd never shown any hint that their liaison meant anything more to him than it did to her -- a way to pass the time, to forget the uncertainty of their lives in isolated moments of heat. Neither one of them had ever uttered the word "love." So why did Rafi have to choose this particular time to play the lover scorned?

"We both go where the Rebellion tells us to go," she replied calmly. No point in allowing her self to get angry with him for indulging in posturing that was now almost two years too late. ""We never made any promises to one another."

"And have you made any promises to _him_?"

Really, this was getting a bit tedious. "No, of course not. But there is a little matter of a life debt between us. I don't know about you, but I tend to think that requires just a bit of discussion."

Rafi made an impatient movement. "If that's what you need to satisfy your conscience. I guess I'm just surprised -- I wasn't sure you had one."

That was a bit too much. Hadn't it been her conscience that led her to the Rebellion in the first place? Well, partially, at least. Boredom and frustration with her life on Commenor had ranked up there as well, but at least she believed in what the Rebellion was doing.

She lifted her shoulders, even as he added, "At any rate, it would be better if I were the one to bring you back into the fold. What with Princess Leia being exposed as a leader of the Rebel Alliance, you're not going to be doing much more prancing around in fancy Senatorial robes and trying to trick people into thinking you're her."

"Exposed?" Dhani echoed, a spiky chill of fear working its way down her back. The indomitable Leia Organa, Mon Mothma's disciple in the ways of undermining the Empire even while paying lip service to its government, exposed for the Rebel she was?

"Guess you don't hear much in the detention block of an Imperial battle station, do you?" Rafi's rather wide mouth pulled into a smirk. She wondered suddenly what she'd ever seen in him. "Vader captured her. In fact, she was held on the Death Star, same as you were. Kind of ironic, come to think of it. Of course, she didn't have any kind-hearted Imperial officers around to save her."

The words seemed to have some difficulty getting themselves out. "She's -- she's _dead_?"

Some of Dhani's horror must have communicated itself to Rafi, for he hurried to say, "No -- no, don't worry. She was rescued as well, but by our people. In fact, it was the same guys that got her out of the Death Star who blew it up in the end. Or so I hear."

Her heart began to resume something resembling its normal rhythm. It took a few seconds for her to get past the relief before she realized she'd become somewhat superfluous. Perhaps the Rebel leaders would still want her to impersonate Leia…perhaps not. Dhani wasn't sure if she wanted to take such a risk, even for the Rebellion. It was one thing to assume the identity of a supposedly upstanding member of society. It was quite another to be a decoy for a woman who was now being actively hunted by the Empire.

She'd never admit as much to Rafi. He hadn't yet explained what he was doing in the Nim Drovis system, but obviously it had to be a bit more than merely performing picket duty. And he had the command of his own ship now. The last time they'd met, he'd just graduated from snub fighter pilot to executive officer on board one of the Alliance's medical frigates. While she'd been bouncing from system to system, assuming identities as the Rebellion's leaders instructed her, he'd been steadily climbing through the ranks. He'd made it clear enough that he was upset with her over they way they'd parted; she wasn't about to confess to him that her love for the Rebellion didn't quite extend to accepting missions that would most likely involve Imperial forces taking potshots at her.

"I think I'd like to talk to General Bast now," she said finally. She wasn't stupid enough to hope that Rafi didn't notice the significant pause which preceded her request. All she could do was hope he wouldn't press the issue any further.

"Fine," he replied, but he obviously didn't make any attempt to keep the annoyance out of his voice. "I'll take you to your cabin myself. Time I got back up to the bridge anyway."

"Then don't let me keep you."

Without bothering to reply, he moved past her and opened the door, then led her down a series of corridors and stopped at a narrow oval entryway. Before he hit the lock, he reached down to his belt and unclipped the comlink he wore there. "Just buzz me when you're done."

Even now he wanted to keep tabs on her. Fine, she'd take the comlink as a show of good faith. The borrowed traveling suit she wore didn't have a belt, but she slipped the little cylinder into a side pocket. "Thanks, Rafi."

He shrugged and said, "I hope you know what you're doing," then pressed his palm against the door controls.

_So do I_, she thought, but she merely nodded before she turned away from him and entered the cabin.

It was smaller than she had imagined. The two cots placed up against the walls seemed to consume most of the available space.

Moradmin Bast stood next to the viewport, apparently watching the serene star drift outside. He shifted his weight as the door closed behind her, but he remained silent.

"Cozy," she ventured. "All the comforts of home."

Then he did turn. "Indeed."

Something in his manner seemed even more formal than usual. The epithet Rafi had used to describe the general flitted through her mind. Yes, he did seem awfully stiff and correct.

For a second she just stared back at him, nonplused, and then a ludicrous thought struck her. Was Bast actually _jealous_?

"I had a nice chat with Captain Vandemar," she went on. "Well, it started out as a nice chat, anyway. I'm afraid we ended up having a difference of opinion as to what I should do next."

Maybe that was a hint of a thaw she saw there -- the slightest relaxation of the taut lines of his mouth, a small retreat of the wariness she glimpsed in his eyes. "Why is that?"

"He wants me to stay here on the _Westwind_. You'd be free to go, of course, because of what you've done for me."

"Generous of him," said Bast, but he sounded distinctly unimpressed.

"Perhaps. But I got to thinking about it, and I much prefer our original plan."

"You what?"

Now he appeared startled despite himself. Most likely he hadn't expected her to pass up a chance to stay on a Rebel ship.

"I'd rather have you take me to Chandrila," she told him. "If you don't mind, that is."

"Mind?" he repeated. Despite what looked like a manful effort to maintain a neutral expression, Dhani got the impression he was completely flummoxed. He cleared his throat and said, "That is -- the most logical plan would be for you to remain here."

"True. I suppose that's why I don't want to stay. Besides, Rafi is a crashing bore. Now I remember why I was in such a hurry to leave him in the first place."

That comment rendered Bast speechless. He blinked once, then turned away from her to look back out the viewport.

She'd hoped for some sort of reaction, but that wasn't precisely the one she'd expected. Squeezing past one of the cots, she came to stand next to him, although she kept her gaze on his face, not the starscape outside the 'port.

"I can stay if that's what you want."

Again he said nothing. Then his eyes narrowed, and he swore under his breath.

Really, was she that much of a burden? She opened her mouth to speak, but to her surprise he reached out and turned her so she squarely faced the viewport.

The starscape had altered subtly. Nim Drovis was only a dark blot against the sky. That wasn't the real difference, however. The sleek arrowhead shape of a Victory-class Star Destroyer now floated against the blackness.

"I think," Bast said, "that we have more important things to worry about…"


	5. Chapter 5

OK, so this update took a little bit more than a week, but you all know how life is! Thank you to everyone for your reviews -- it makes me so happy to know that people are following along with this story.

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V

A klaxon sounded, shrilling down the corridor outside. Almost at once Bast could feel the vibrations beneath his feet pick up. The starfield shifted, and the Star Destroyer disappeared from view. But it was still out there, unfortunately.

"It appears your Rafi is trying to make a run for it," he said.

Dhani scowled. "He's not 'my Rafi.'" A note of worry entered her voice as she added, "What are we going to do?"

Good question. Corellian corvettes were fast ships, and Vandemar had reacted almost immediately. Whether his quick action was enough to get the _Westwind_ out of range of that Star Destroyer's tractor beam, Bast couldn't say. Presuming, of course, that the unknown Imperial ship's orders were to capture the Rebel vessel and not simply blow it out of the sky.

The ship's vibrations increased. Bast didn't think it was a tractor beam that caused the odd shuddering. Then realization dawned, and he muttered a curse.

"What?" Dhani asked, and seemed to move closer to him, as if driven by some unspoken instinct of protection.

While her proximity might have been desirable under other circumstances, right then he had other things to worry about. "Do you feel that?"

She paused, as if to gauge the movement of the ship. "Yes."

"It's our shuttle. It's still connected to the _Westwind_ by the umbilical."

"I assume that's not good."

"No. No, it's not." Bast had no idea what an umbilical's maximum load velocity might be, but he guessed they were rapidly approaching the straining point. As soon as it was reached, the umbilical would tear away, leaving the _Odosian II_ to drop away and become just another piece of space junk.

If it survived the process without having a hole torn in its hull, of course.

That seemed to decide things. Waiting here to see if Vandemar really could make a getaway was not an option. Even if the Rebels somehow managed to jump into hyperspace without getting caught by the Star Destroyer or blown into a million pieces, the shuttle would be gone forever. Then he and Dhani would be at the mercy of the Rebel captain. While she seemed to think Rafi Vandemar was trustworthy, Bast didn't share that assessment.

And if the _Westwind_ was captured, then he would have a bit of explaining to do as to why a high-ranking Imperial officer had been placed in a regular cabin instead of the brig. It was a difficult enough equation without somehow trying to factor Dhani into it.

That seemed to decide things. "We'd better get moving."

To her credit, she didn't even blink. "Time to abandon ship?"

"Past time, I should think." He went to the door and touched the lock. Just as the door slid open, a Rebel dashed past in the corridor outside. He didn't even pause to look at them. Obviously Captain Vandemar's passengers were not a priority at the moment.

Bast gestured for Dhani to follow him, then slipped out into the hallway and hurried aft, back to the hatchway where the umbilical was attached. Although he would have preferred a flat-out run -- however undignified it might have looked -- he kept his pace down to a trot so that he wouldn't outdistance her on his much longer legs.

The floor seemed to slip out from under his feet as the ship rocked from what had to have been a blast from the Star Destroyer's turbolasers. He found himself flung into a wall as Dhani stumbled and fell to her knees. She swore.

No time to stop and assess the damage. Wordlessly, he reached down to her as soon as he recovered his balance. He saw naked fear for once on her face, but she only grasped his hand and allowed him to pull her upright.

"Guess they're not interested in taking prisoners," she managed.

"Apparently not."

Her fingers were terribly fragile in his, and he felt a wave of protectiveness wash over him that was as strong as it was unexpected. It was because of him that she was here. He had to get her safely away.

Luckily, the traveling suit and boots she wore had been designed for comfort and practicality rather than style, so she made a better job of matching his hastened pace than he would have thought. Or perhaps it was simple panic that lent her speed. Whatever the cause, the rest of their trip down the corridors of the _Westwind_ took less time than he had feared.

Even as they reached the umbilical, the ship rocked with another blow. How many more hits like that could the corvette take? Two? Three? Bast decided he really didn't want to stay around to find out.

Despite the instinct that told him to get out now, he paused before activating the lock that controlled the umbilical. Dhani looked up at him with questioning eyes.

"Take a deep breath before we go," he told her. "The umbilical is attached, but it could come loose at any time. If that happens, we have no more than thirty standard seconds to get inside the shuttle before the vacuum takes us. Understand?" He didn't bother to add that if the umbilical came loose from the _Odosian II_ and not the _Westwind_, that thirty seconds of grace wouldn't do them a bit of good.

She bit her lip and nodded.

"All right, then." He sucked in as deep a breath as he could manage, then let go of her hand just long enough to hit the switch that would open the iris-like aperture in the umbilical. It began to slid apart, and he hooked her arm in his and pulled her into the narrow, circular tunnel.

It bounced and bobbed worse than a raft in a raging stream. Almost at once he was thrown to his feet, his hand torn loose from hers.

It was actually a good thing, he realized. Crawling, he had far more stability than he would if he'd remained standing. Something scrabbled at the heel of one of his boots, and he realized it was Dhani, getting a firm grip so they wouldn't become separated.

The umbilical spanned only about ten meters or so, but it felt more like a parsec. Bast tried not to think of anything except the hatch at the far end that was their destination. He couldn't do anything about the wild bucking motion of the umbilical, or the increasing panicked nausea that began to rise in his throat. All he could do was continue to crawl.

Finally his reaching fingers touched metal. With a relieved gasp, he pulled himself upright enough to activate the controls on this end of the umbilical. Just as his hand caught on the smooth surface of the buttons, the tunnel gave a violent jerk, and air began to whistle past his ears, ears that responded with a series of painful pops.

Dhani screamed. Then he felt both her hands fasten around his ankle, hanging on for dear life as the umbilical began to spew its atmosphere out into the void. The encroaching vacuum dragged phantom claws against his body, but he refused to let go of the controls and grimly hit the buttons in the necessary sequence. The door into the shuttle scissored open. He fell through, dragging Dhani with him as best he could. Escaping air rushed past, and he grabbed her by the sleeve and hauled her the rest of the way inside. If enough precious atmosphere was lost, the _Odosian II_'s antiquated generators would never be able to keep up.

Gasping, he struggled to his knees and slammed his palm against the airlock controls. The door slid shut, even as he caught a glimpse of the umbilical tearing away, undulating in its death throes like a deep-sea jelly creature from Mon Calamari when caught by sunlight.

No time to watch it any further, and no time to offer any aid to Dhani, who still lay on the floor. Coughs racked her slender frame, but if she had enough energy to cough, then she should be all right for now. The best thing he could do for the both of them was to get the shuttle out of here as soon as possible.

The little ship had remained on standby while he and Dhani had been inside the _Westwind_. While it would take a few minutes to re-engage the hyperdrive, at least the coordinates for their next jump had already been calculated. Just a bit of adjustment to account for their drift during the past half-hour, and then they should be home free. He could only hope that the Star Destroyer was more interested in larger prey and would overlook the _Odosian II_ altogether.

A splash of green fire burst outside. Bast winced. The shot hadn't been directed at them, or the shuttle would already have been blasted into a million pieces. Still, dead was dead, whether it was intentional or whether you merely had the bad luck to be caught in a crossfire.

As he pulled away from the _Westwind_ as quickly as the shuttle's sublight engines would take them, he reflected that things had come to a sorry pass indeed if he was actively running away from the very people who should have come to his aid. But this was not the sort of situation where lengthy explanations were even feasible. Better to get away, regroup, and figure out what to do next, to go someplace where he wasn't likely to be blown into oblivion simply for being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

A groan and a creaking of leather signaled that Dhani had regained herself enough to clamber into the co-pilot's seat. "That was close."

Too close. And they weren't exactly out of danger yet. He was trying to keep the bulk of the Corellian corvette between them and the Star Destroyer for as long as possible, but with the way the _Westwind_ kept bobbing and weaving, Bast didn't know how long that strategy was going to work.

"You're not signaling them for help," she added.

"No."

"Why not?"

Her question didn't help his concentration any. He glanced down at the nav-computer. Just a minute more…

"Too risky," he replied, without looking at her. "While this ship has Imperial transponder codes, those can easily be faked. And since we were just attached to a Rebel vessel -- "

"Better to get away and sort things out later," she finished.

His estimation of her rose another notch. Whatever her quirks, at least Dhani was capable of quickly assessing a situation.

Then the viewport darkened suddenly, adjusting to a barrage of turbolaser fire exchanged by the ships outside. For a second Bast wasn't quite sure of what he was seeing, half-blinded as he'd been by the unexpected blast. Then he blinked, and blinked again.

Those blasts had apparently come from another starship, one that must have just emerged from hyperspace. The glare from Nim Drovis' sun prevented him from getting a clear image of the newcomer, but its bulbous outline seemed to indicate that it was a Mon Calamari star cruiser. Abruptly, the odds in this particular battle had changed.

He would have been of no help to either ship. If the Star Destroyer's captain was adroit enough, he still might emerge the victor. While the Mon Cal vessel matched the Victory-class ship in firepower, the Rebel vessel had a thinner hull and lesser shields. But with the _Westwind_ running interference, it would be a tough fight.

Knowledge of the outcome would forever elude him. The hyperdrive chimed its warning, and he wrapped his hand around the T-handle and pushed it forward, tearing the _Odosian II_ from normal space and the firefight that had surrounded the little ship.

Familiar star-streaks boiled past the viewport. For a few seconds Bast could only remain immobile in his seat, unwilling to acknowledge the weak-kneed relief that surged through him.

"Damn good flying, General," Dhani remarked. "Even if you include the near-suffocation."

"My flying had nothing to do with that."

"You know what I mean." To his surprise, she leaned over and gave his forearm a quick squeeze before she settled back into the co-pilot's seat.

It was stupid of him to feel a little burst of joy at her touch. He'd just left fellow Imperials while he turned tail and ran. Never mind that there wasn't a jawa's chance in a supernova of the _Odosian II_'s being any good in a firefight. It was the principle of thing. Still, despite the fact that he should be berating himself for his cowardice, he felt absurdly happy.

To cover up his reaction, he assumed a frown, then said, "Perhaps now that we're away you can enlighten me as to what exactly Captain Vandemar was doing in the Nim Drovis system."

He could have sworn the look of puzzlement that crossed her features was genuine. "How would I know?"

"A simple Corellian corvette, whether or not it's manned by Rebels, is usually not a target of such importance that the Empire would send a Star Destroyer to dispatch it. Nor would the Rebellion usually spare one of its precious Mon Cal cruisers to protect a small ship doing picket duty in a relatively unimportant system."

She lifted her shoulders. "That very well may be true. But Rafi didn't tell me anything about what they were doing there." A small glint showed in her dark eyes. "He seemed more interested in convincing me to stay."

Bast had a feeling she enjoyed passing on that particular bit of information. While it annoyed him, he'd already guessed as much from her earlier comments back in the small cabin Captain Vandemar had given them. However, he knew better than to give her the satisfaction of knowing that she had nettled him.

"Pity," he replied. "Information is always useful."

A toss of the long braid she wore over one shoulder. "Well, if that's what you're concerned about, I'm fairly certain we can get free drinks for weeks with our 'escape from the Death Star' story."

"As long as you leave out the little detail about my being the Grand Moff's adjutant."

The glint returned to her eyes. "Well, there is that."

Now that they were safely away from Nim Drovis and the _Westwind_, Bast realized how utterly, bone-numbingly weary he was. How long had it been since he last slept? Forty-eight standard hours? Sixty? He couldn't even begin to estimate. True, he'd been trained to go for long periods without rest, but his Academy days were far behind him. And, he thought with some ruefulness as he looked at Dhani (who seemed little the worse for wear despite nearly being sucked out an airlock), he wasn't twenty-one anymore.

"We should be at Cybloc in a few hours," he said.

"What's there?"

"Nothing, I hope." With that comment, he undid the safety harness and stood, feeling his bones creak as he did so. Right then he thought he'd be happy to see thirty again. Twenty-one was asking a bit much. He added, "It should be quiet enough. I'm going to try for a short rest."

Dhani cocked her head to one side and gazed up at him. "You do look tired."

_Thank you so very much_, he thought, but he didn't bother to reply. Instead, he turned away from her and headed to the small sleeping space -- he wouldn't give it the honor of calling it a cabin -- at the rear of the ship. Much as he'd disliked admitting any weakness to Dhani, he also knew he was just about at his limit. Better to rest now, while the ship was safely in hyperspace. At least this way he would be better prepared to face whatever might come next.

_Huttese slavers_, he guessed, as he settled onto the hard little cot. _Spice smugglers. Falleen crime lords._

And with these cheery thoughts to keep him company, he drifted off into much-needed slumber.

***

Dhani watched the stars bleed past the viewport. She'd never cared much for hyperspace travel; the queerly distorted stars disturbed her at some deep, almost atavistic level, and she didn't like the feeling of being somehow outside the galaxy, in some otherwhere that she couldn't quite understand.

People were easier to understand. Well, most of them, anyway.

If she leaned far enough over the edge of the co-pilot's chair and peered down the shuttle's short hallway, she could catch a glimpse of Bast stretched out on the cot she herself had used only a few hours earlier. Of course, he was much taller; his booted feet hung off the foot of the inadequate little bed. Even in sleep he was Imperial and correct. He lay on his back, hands clasped on his chest. If it weren't for his closed eyes and a certain slackness to his features, she would have been hard-pressed to tell he was asleep at all.

At least he'd taken off the cap. In the dim light of the hallway luma, his hair gleamed dark gold, just a little shaggier than that of most of the Imperial officers she'd known. Perhaps they hadn't had a good barber on the Death Star.

That thought brought a small laugh bubbling to her lips, one she quickly quelled. The poor man needed his sleep. Somehow she doubted he would be happy to have her wake him up because she was laughing about his hair.

Her smile faded as she thought of the firefight they had just escaped. What the hell _had_ Rafi been up to, back there in the Nim Drovis system? Now that she thought about it, she found she was a little miffed that he hadn't deigned to share any information with her. Oh, he'd asked her to stay -- probably because he was starting to get a little itchy and didn't have any better prospects around. That would be just like him. Well, she'd had the last laugh there. She could still see the startled expression on his face when she'd told him she preferred to take her chances with General Bast.

But she supposed it was one thing for Rafi to try to keep her around to scratch his itch and quite another for him to be sharing state secrets with her. Come to think of it, the leaders of the various Rebel cells she'd worked with had never told her much of anything except where she had to be and what she had to wear. It was as if they had thought of her only as a useful pretty face and not much else. Certainly not someone to be trusted with any sensitive information.

Brow furrowing, she wrapped her arms around her knees and hugged them to herself, huddling in the co-pilot's seat as she stared out at the distorted heavens around her. Why hadn't she thought of this earlier?

_Because you were caught up in the game_, she thought. _It was all so exciting…for awhile. They never gave you a real chance to stop and think._

All right, so the leaders of the Rebel cells who'd given her orders had allowed her to think she was a bit more important than she really was. If that was their worst crime, well -- as angry as she felt right now -- she knew the Empire was guilty of far, far worse. Ego bruising didn't quite rank up there with genocide or calculated cradle-to-grave oppression.

So why this sense of betrayal?

Because they were supposed to be the good guys. It was a lot easier when everything appeared to be black and white. She gave an almost involuntary glance down the corridor to the small bed where Bast slept.

Now it seemed as if everything was a million shades of gray.

Too bad that cot was so narrow. Right then she felt as if all she wanted to do was lie down next to him and feel his arms go around her. That would be enough for now -- just to lay her head against his chest and hear him breathing, to let the warmth of his body take away some of the chill that seemed to be tracing its way through her every vein. Insane that she should feel safer with him than she had with anyone else.

A strident little alarm began to sound from overhead, and she jumped. Then the ship shuddered its way back into normal space. As soon as the starfield dropped into place around the shuttle, the alarm shut off. Dhani let out a breath she didn't even remember holding. _The hyperdrive alert_, she thought. _Nothing to worry about._

The system possessed an unremarkable yellow sun and five planets, two of which were in the habitable band. One glowed green as the bitterwood liqueur of her home world.

She craned her head to look around but saw nothing. No other ships, no orbital platforms. Nothing except a serene little system that appeared as if it had never been touched. Not completely true, of course; someone had to have catalogued it and placed its coordinates in the Imperial databank. Still, after their eventful arrival at Nim Drovis, it was something of a relief to have ended up in a place so quiet, so isolated.

"All clear?" came Bast's voice.

She looked up to see him standing in the entrance to the bridge. His hair stuck out on one side, and she bit her lip to keep from smiling. He must have seen something in her expression, however, for he quickly reached up to smooth back the unruly locks.

"Looks that way," she replied.

He settled himself in the captain's chair and began studying the readouts before him. Whatever data he saw, it seemed to put his mind somewhat at ease, for his expression relaxed a bit, and he pushed himself back in his seat. "No ships in the immediate area, and no transmissions from any of those planets. It looks as if we're in the clear -- for now."

"Rested?" she asked.

"Very much so. Thank you for watching the bridge."

Dhani had thought she was teasing him, but he'd taken her question at face value and answered her directly and courteously. Looking up at him, at the circles under his eyes that his short sleep hadn't managed to erase, she felt somewhat ashamed.

"Not much to watch," she said. "So far this crate is doing a pretty good job. I take back everything bad I ever said about Sub-Governor Janning."

"Everything?"

"Well, I still think he's a toadying fool, but since he got us off Odos, and his wife had the great sense to be close to my size, I'll let that go for now."

"Gracious of you." Bast turned slightly away from her and began tapping away at the nav-computer -- entering the coordinates for the next leg of their journey, she presumed.

"So where next?"

"I was thinking of Null. There's little enough to trouble us there, and from that system we'll be in a good place to jump to Arkania, and from there finally to Chandrila."

As soon as the word "Null," left his lips, Dhani felt another one of those laughs tickling at her throat. Really, what were the odds? In all the systems in all the galaxy, Bast seemed to have an uncanny knack for locating the ones littered with evidence of her not-so-pristine past.

Something in her silence must have alerted him, for Bast turned around and stared down at her, a frown tugging at one corner of his mouth. "Is there anything wrong with my plan?"

"Well, not wrong, precisely. It's just that -- " She hesitated, then said, "I wouldn't say there's 'nothing' to trouble us on Null. Although actually, maybe he could help us."

"He?" repeated Bast, in dark tones.

"Er -- " Maybe she should have just kept her mouth shut. "His name is Eustis Penn. He was a slicer for the Alliance for awhile, but he felt he wasn't being challenged enough, so he left."

That was an understatement. Eustis always had a flair for the dramatic -- his departure from the Rebel base on Dantooine had been accompanied by much flinging of datacards and flimsiplast in one of the more epic flounces Dhani had ever been privileged to witness. Unfortunately, the Rebellion needed Eustis far more than he needed it; his family had money, and he was so gifted he could charge a premium for his services. She'd kept in sporadic touch with him simply because he could be amusing, and a girl never knew when she might need the help of someone who could slice through an Imperial database the way a fusion cutter could go through solid rock.

At any rate, that was how she knew he had somehow acquired the abandoned fortress on Null. From there he sat at the center of a web that touched both Rebel and Imperial operatives -- and all the shades of gray in between.

That ferociously expressionless look had returned to Bast's features. It was one she'd come to think of as his Imperial face.

"Is there," he asked, in a tone as neutral and yet as damning as the expression he wore, "any system in the galaxy that doesn't contain one of your ex-boyfriends?"


	6. Chapter 6

Sorry it took me so long to update -- I have been fighting a massive dose of writer's block on this story. It's actually helped me to work on other projects so I could get back to this one. Thank you for being patient, and thank you for your reviews!

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VI

As the hatch to the _Odosian II_ slid open, Bast reflected that this Eustis Penn had done a pretty damn good job of choosing a sanctuary for himself.

Cool air scented with exotic greenery greeted the two of them as they made their way down the ship's ramp. Overhead, brightly plumed whisper birds drifted by. The sky was a soft blue just faintly tinged with green, almost the exact shade of a _sargoth_'s shell. From somewhere off to his right Bast heard the murmur of flowing water.

"That way," Dhani said, pointing almost directly ahead.

Through the forest, he thought he spied an edifice of towering dark stone, looking grim and incongruous against the lush vegetation. He supposed it made sense that Count Dooku had built something so at odds with its surroundings.

The planet had a muddled history and had fallen into disarray after the Count's death. But apparently some enterprising individual had decided to make a pile of credits by selling the unused fortress to Penn, who, according Dhani's wry observations, had a flair for the dramatic.

"Really," she'd said, as they began to make their descent toward Null, "what use does a slicer have for a fortress? He'd have done better with a penthouse on Coruscant or Gyndine. But I suppose that was too pedestrian for Eustis."

None of this exactly reassured Bast, who was none too sanguine about dealing with Eustis Penn after the debacle on board the _Westwind_. But a survey of their supplies had told him that their oxygen generators needed a refresher before they could even think of heading on to Chandrila.

So Dhani sent a message over the most widely used frequencies, asking to talk to Eustis Penn. He responded almost immediately; Bast guessed that the slicer had his equipment constantly scanning both normal and subspace channels for any chatter in the area. He sounded surprised but friendly enough.

Too friendly, in Bast's opinion. Unfortunately, at the moment no one seemed to be asking him for it.

They'd had little choice, though. Their oxygen supply would never gave gotten them all the way to the Core. Bast told himself that dealing with Penn was still preferable to trying to make contact with the tribes who inhabited Null. While they were marginally sympathetic to the Empire, he worried they might drive a hard bargain. Eustis Penn, on the other hand, apparently had no need to gouge them for parts. And Dhani swore that she and the slicer had parted amicably enough…

So here Bast was, tromping through the forest after the girl who had managed to turn his life upside down in less than three standard days. He couldn't shake the feeling that if he'd just been a bit more clever or more capable, he could have avoided the current situation completely, but exactly how he was at a loss to say.

The planet was beautiful, though. Good hunting grounds, he thought, looking over the widely spaced trees with a practiced eye. The whisper birds were prized by hunters the galaxy over, but Bast hadn't yet had a chance to set his sights on them. And he rather doubted that Dhani would appreciate him delaying their journey to Chandrila just so he could bag a few birds.

A wide door of some dark metal covered in an intricate embossed pattern opened as they approached. A voice came from the speaker directly inside.

"Welcome," it said, in Core accents as cultured as Bast's own. "Please come to the reception area on the second floor."

Bast arched an eyebrow at Dhani, and she shrugged. "Eustis always liked to control a situation. Might as well humor him."

A sigh tickled the back of Bast's throat, but he swallowed it and strode forward through a wide, short hallway that ended in an equally broad staircase. The interior of the building appeared to have been constructed out of the same dark, gleaming stone as the exterior, but gracefully curved lumas lit the way, making the effect more dramatic than brooding.

As they mounted the final step, an arched entryway led them into a spacious chamber agleam with shifting, subtle light. Bast recognized the pieces mounted at regular intervals in the dark stone walls -- he himself had owned one of Lugesh's light paintings, although it had been much smaller than the ones he saw now. Unfortunately, the painting was now gone, blasted into atoms along with everything else on the Death Star.

Odd that the thought of the lost painting should bring a little lump to his throat, the way the thought of his lost comrades-in-arms had not.

A tall man with a head of striking dark-red hair strode toward them. He wore an impeccably cut tunic and narrow pants, and was as handsome in his way as Rafi Vandemar had been. Naturally, Bast disliked him on sight.

That feeling of antipathy only increased as the stranger -- who of course had to be Eustis Penn -- held his hands out to Dhani. She took them, smiling brightly as a supernova.

"Thank you so much, Eustis," she said. "I'm afraid our poor ship is in need of some tender care."

"Think nothing of it," Penn replied. Then his gaze shifted away from her to Bast, who had remained off to one side. "And your…companion?"

"General Moradmin Bast," he said, and gave a crisp half-bow. "Your service to the Empire will be noted."

The remark was something of a gamble, as of course Penn and Dhani had met while working for the Rebellion. But as far as he could tell, Bast surmised that the slicer was now a free agent…and Null was most definitely not a world attached to the Alliance. While perhaps Penn had no need of actual wealth, influence and connections were something else altogether.

It might have been a trick of the shifting light in the room, but Bast thought he spied an avaricious gleam come and go in the other man's eyes. All the better. Simple greed he could work with. It was idealists such as Rafi Vandemar who tended to cause the most trouble.

"This is a rather fine collection of Lugeshes you have here," Bast went on, moving away from Penn to study the painting closest to the stairs. In its current state, it resembled the polar lights he had once seen on Lanarsk Prime -- a rippling gauze veil in subtle shades of aqua and lavender and shell pink. "This piece would appear to be from one of his earlier periods."

"You are a collector?" Eustis Penn asked, surprise evident in his voice.

"Mostly an admirer. I regret that in my current position I don't have the time to decorate my quarters as I would like."

_That was nicely done_, Bast thought with some satisfaction. _The implication is that I have the means to collect these works, and it's only the constraints of my service which prevent me from doing so._

Penn's face was a study of grudging respect. Behind his shoulder, Bast could see Dhani's eyebrows performing some complicated gymnastics. No doubt she was trying to decide whether Bast was feeding Penn what he thought the slicer would want to hear, or whether he really did know what he was talking about.

"It's good to see that there are still some devotees of the arts in the Empire," Eustis Penn said, after a distinct pause. "But about your ship -- "

"The oxygen generators need a recharge," Bast said immediately. "Through an odd set of circumstances, I required the loan of a vessel, a loan which the sub-governor of Odos was good enough to give me. Unfortunately, his shuttle was not quite up to fleet standards."

"I'll have my people look into it," Penn replied.

Dhani crossed her arms, and her full mouth pulled into something closely resembling a smirk. "Since when do you have 'people'?"

"Since always, my dear. You just didn't know about them."

Again one finely arched brow raised itself in disbelief. However, she somehow managed to hold her tongue.

Penn turned so that he faced her. His tone a limpid drawl, he said, "I'm intrigued, though -- how in the galaxy did you end up in the company of a high-ranking Imperial officer? Did he make you a better offer?"

The insult hadn't even been disguised. Clearly Eustis Penn thought of Dhani as the sort of woman who would go with any man who promised her some sort of advancement. What that said about the slicer himself, Bast didn't know. Obviously he hadn't scrupled at having some sort of an intimate relationship with the young woman.

The sight of her pale, stricken features only angered Bast further. No, he wouldn't fool himself into thinking that she was some sort of untouched virginal creature -- just the little he had glimpsed of her past was enough to refute that idea. But however littered that past might be with former lovers, he knew they had been exactly that: men she had cared about, if only for a short time. He couldn't believe she had entered those relationships purely for personal gain.

"Hardly," Bast said, injecting the durasteel tones in his voice that had usually proved quite effective with his underlings. "It was imperative that Miss Wardilow not perish on the Death Star."

As soon as the words left his mouth, Bast cursed himself for his indiscretion. Had it been necessary for him to reveal exactly how they had met?

To his surprise, however, Eustis Penn only nodded, as if he had already been in possession of that information. "Yes, I knew she'd been detained on the Death Star."

"What?" Dhani demanded. "How?"

The smile Penn flickered in her direction was so condescending that Bast wished he could forcibly wipe it off the other man's mouth. Since they weren't in anything resembling a position of power, he could only clench his fists at his side and hope that one day whatever force which guided the galaxy would allow him to give the slicer the beating he so obviously deserved.

"I have my ways," Eustis replied. He shrugged, a negligent little movement that somehow showed off the fine drape of the tunic he wore. "You should know that."

From the brief nod she gave her ex-lover, Bast guessed that she probably did. The man was a slicer, after all -- one of the best, if Dhani's words were to be taken at face value. He didn't like to think that the Empire's databases could be so easily breached, but Bast knew better. It was an ongoing war that underlay the one fought in space, a struggle between Rebel slicers and Imperial coders to see who could would triumph: the Alliance operatives who could dissect code faster than a medical droid could perform an autopsy, or the semi-crazed geniuses who populated the encryption branches in Intelligence and COMPNOR.

"At any rate," Bast said, thinking he had somehow just lost some ground and not sure exactly how it had happened, "I believe it is safe to say that Miss Wardilow may be treated as a neutral participant for now."

"Bloom off the dusk rose?" asked Penn. He continued to stare down at Dhani without bothering to mask the expression of disdain he wore. "Rebellion lost its charm?"

Her chin went up in the movement Bast already knew so well. "A few weeks in an Imperial detention center tend to do that to a person." The soft lines of her lips hardened perceptibly. "But you didn't even need that much to walk away, did you, Eustis? All that took was a few command personnel who weren't quite quick enough to worship at your feet."

The barb hit home, Bast could tell; Penn's brows drew down, and he crossed his arms. "Idiots," he said.

"Maybe. Or maybe they were just doing their jobs." For a second longer she matched her former lover glare for glare, and then she looked away, a distant smile playing about her mouth. "But past is past, isn't it, Eustis? No need to dredge all that up now. Very simply, we need your help. And we hope that you'll give it."

If Bast hadn't been watching the other man so closely, he might have missed the almost imperceptible pause that preceded Penn's reply. "I would never let down a friend in need."

_Well, at least not if you thought you might be able to get something out of it_, Bast reflected in grim amusement.

The sunburst smile returned to Dhani's face. "We really do appreciate it. Don't we, General?"

The assistance, yes. The person providing it? Not quite so much.

Bast managed to adopt the expression of pleasant politeness he'd invariably been forced to plaster on his features whenever Grand Moff Tarkin or another member of the High Command made a statement he disagreed with but couldn't openly dispute. "Of course. As I said, your generous offer of assistance will not be forgotten."

Again that gleam came and went in Penn's eyes. Then he smiled and said, "I went to the liberty of having some rooms prepared for you, as I didn't know the extent of the repairs your vessel might require. I assume a suite with adjoining sleeping chambers will be sufficient?"

"Quite sufficient," Bast replied, without bothering to elaborate further. Let Penn think what he wanted. Separate bedrooms made the situation a bit easier to manage. If the sleeping arrangements were the slicer's not-so-subtle attempt at transmitting his opinion of their liaison, so be it.

"I usually take my evening meal at nineteen-thirty local. Of course I would like you to join me. It seems Dhani and I have some catching up to do."

There were few things Bast thought he'd enjoy less than hearing Eustis Penn and Dhani reminisce over their times together with the Rebellion, but refusing would only make him sound discourteous and petty. However, that didn't mean he couldn't inject a little archness into his reply. "We would be honored."

The quick, amused glance Dhani threw in his direction seemed to indicate she was wise to his game. But she sobered her expression as she turned toward Eustis Penn. "In the meantime, though, I think I'd like to rest a bit. The strain of the journey and everything."

She didn't look particularly strained, but the excuse worked well enough.

"Of course," Penn said at once. "DeeFour here will show you the way."

A protocol droid Bast hadn't even noticed came forward out of the shadows. Then again, he was fairly certain Penn had chosen that dark, gleaming finish for the droid precisely because it allowed the machine to blend into the background.

"If you will follow me?" it said, and gestured toward a turbolift located toward the rear of the reception chamber.

Bast nodded, and Dhani came at once to his side. Without speaking, they stepped into the 'lift after the droid. It pushed a button on the control console, and they shot upward, the lights on the indicator panel showing that their destination was a good five floors above the reception area.

He was loath to say much of anything in the droid's presence, and Dhani appeared to be in agreement. Such quiet was uncharacteristic of her, but it reassured Bast that she could be discreet when necessary.

Once they arrived at the sixth floor, the droid led them down a long corridor flooded with natural light from a series of enormous windows. Not very defensible, Bast reflected, but even as the criticism crossed his mind, he noticed the faint shimmer of energy shields distorting the landscape outside.

He wondered if Eustis Penn really had the sort of enemies that a fortress like this seemed to indicate, or whether he simply enjoyed putting on an elaborate show. The energy required to generate such a high level of shields day and night wasn't cheap. Then again, Dhani had already made it clear that money wasn't a particular concern for the slicer.

Bast wished he could say the same for himself. If he had access to ready credits, then none of this skulking around in backwater systems and begging assistance from Dhani's admittedly staggering pool of ex-lovers would be necessary. No, they could simply land where they wanted, purchase whatever goods or services they required, and be on their way. The rank bars on his uniform would be enough to dissuade those involved from asking too many questions about his unorthodox method of transportation and his even more unlikely traveling companion.

A plan began to form in his mind then, even as the droid ushered them into a large, luxurious chamber. Furnishings that wouldn't have been out of place in the Imperial palace decorated the main sitting room, and a wide window let in another astonishing vista, this one of a round blue lake fringed by some kind of elegant, drooping local trees. Their meager belongings had already been brought up from the shuttle and deposited in a rather shabby pile behind one divan.

"Is there anything else?" the droid inquired.

"No, nothing," Bast said. All he really wanted at the moment was a chance to be alone with Dhani.

"Of course," said the droid, and promptly disappeared through the doorway.

Dhani had stopped in the center of the chamber and appeared to giving its contents a careful appraisal. She remarked, "If I'd known Eustis was worth quite this much, I might not have been so quick to give him the boot."

"Truly a bad business move," Bast replied, refusing to be baited. He thought he'd gotten a bit better at reading her expressions. From the lift of her mouth and the wicked sparkle in her eyes, he guessed she hadn't meant her comment to be taken seriously. He added, "Speaking of which -- "

"Yes?"

"I've been thinking that we could quite easily resolve our current cash flow crisis."

"I wasn't aware we had one."

"Do you really believe we would have been forced to these extremities if it weren't for the fact that I have no easy access to my own accounts?"

She appeared to consider. "Well, when you put it that way -- "

"Precisely." He made his tone deliberately casual. "I think the best thing to do would be to have Eustis Penn slice into my accounts and take out what we need."

***

He'd gone completely mad. That had to be the only explanation. Then again, he didn't look particularly crazy. He watched her with a frank, somewhat relaxed air, as if he had just suggested that they take a brief stroll around the lake outside their window.

Dhani found her voice. "Come again?"

"Penn is a slicer, correct?"

"Well, yes."

"One of the best?"

Somehow she didn't like the idea of admitting to Eustis' excellence in the field, but since she'd already said as much, she knew lying would get her nowhere. "As far as I know," she allowed.

"Then it should be a simple enough procedure for him to access my accounts and withdraw the amount I specify. Really, I don't see any harm in it -- the only person who would report the funds as missing would be me."

He sounded reasonable -- almost too reasonable -- but Dhani thought there must be a flaw in his argument somewhere. "You don't think your accountant would notice something like that?"

"Accountant? I don't trust anyone else to manage my money."

That settled it. He must be mad. She had no clear idea of what a man with his rank earned, but she knew it must be far more than her parents or anyone else in her circle back on Commenor had made. How could someone with that sort of wealth get by without entrusting its management to a professional?

Some of her disbelief must have shown in her face, for he said, "What, really, do I have to manage? A few accounts, a small investment portfolio. I own no real property. Why should I, when I've spend my entire adult life away from my home world?"

She supposed she'd never really thought about it. True, some men in the Imperial service managed to maintain households back home, wives and children they didn't see for months at a time, but the majority of them lived a life apart, their only home the ship or the base where they were currently stationed.

For some reason she felt a rush of relief as she realized Bast's remarks meant he had no family stashed away somewhere, no wife or significant other. Why that should matter so much, she really didn't want to say. Not now, at least.

"So you've just let it pile up."

"More or less. You may have a slightly inflated idea of what the Imperial service pays, even for someone of my rank. But a small fraction of it would be more than sufficient for our needs."

"Which are?"

He smiled slightly. "A better ship, for one thing. At the rate we're going, we'll be lucky to reach Chandrila before the Empire finishes its second Death Star."

It took a moment for his words to sink in. The temperature in the room seemed to have dropped by a good twenty degrees. Voice tight with shock, she demanded, "The Empire finishes its _what_?"

An expression of dismay crossed his features before he managed to blank it down behind the usual polite mask. For a few seconds he said nothing. When he did speak, his tone was gentler than she thought she'd ever heard it. "The Imperial scientists are fond of redundancies. While of course everyone expected the first iteration to be sufficient, plans were already in the works for a second battle station. To be honest, I have no true idea of how far along in production it may be."

The sour taste of nausea rose in the back of her throat. She tried not to think of all the Rebel operatives who had suffered and died to ensure the first Death Star's destruction. To think they would now have to go through that all over again --

"You may not care," Bast said, "but I never supported the Death Star project. There were better ways to utilize the Empire's resources."

"Its resources!" she exclaimed. "Is that all you care about? What about the billions of people on Alderaan who were murdered?"

His jaw hardened. "We have covered this ground before, Dhani. I had no power to stop any of it. I know very little of the second Death Star, save that its construction is moving forward at an undisclosed location. I had the power to do one thing as far as that station was concerned, and that was to remove you from it."

How did he know to say the one thing that would cool her anger? Not completely, of course. The thought that the Empire had already begun to build another one of those abominations still made her feel as if she wanted to be sick. But Bast had saved her, had risked his own life to ensure hers should continue. It was easy to hate the Empire, but she knew she didn't hate him.

Far, far from it, if she wanted to be completely truthful with herself.

For now, she knew she needed to refocus her energy on their current situation. Bast was right -- this limping from system to system had to stop. And she had no doubt that Eustis could pull those funds out of Bast's account as easily as a spice smuggler could slip through an Imperial blockade. "So what's your plan?"

He seemed to relax slightly at her question. No doubt he'd expected her to continue the argument. "I'll have Penn transfer the funds to a credit voucher. Once our ship is repaired, we'll go to Obroa-Skai. It's the closest system where I feel we can purchase a reliable ship without too many questions being asked."

It seemed simple enough, but experience had taught her that simple didn't always equate to easy. "What if Eustis refuses?"

"Do you really think he will?"

She thought of her time with Eustis, his triumphs, his delight in unraveling whatever fiendish code the Imperials had been able to create. No doubt he would consider slicing into Bast's accounts to be ridiculously easy, something he could have accomplished while still a schoolboy. On the other hand, favor was often much more difficult to earn than mere credits. She guessed that Penn would never pass up a chance to have a high-ranking Imperial officer in his debt, however odd his request might be.

"No," she said. "I'm fairly certain he'll do as you ask."

"Good."

There might have been something else she could have said, some question she could have asked as to why Bast had suddenly decided that urgency was of the essence. He hadn't seemed too concerned about their leisurely pace before now. Had he begun to tire of her, to see her as a burden he wished to rid himself of as soon as possible?

If that were the case, there wasn't much she could do about it. At the very least, she had some new information that would be quite valuable to the Rebellion. She could only imagine what the leaders of the Resistance would give to know of the existence of a second Death Star.

Dhani realized that she'd somehow hoped Bast would stay with her after they reached Chandrila, but that was a foolish fancy. He seemed to be a man of honor, and so would not abandon her until he saw her safely to the Rebel-leaning planet, but the idea of any future beyond that had been only a dream. And really, what in the galaxy had she been thinking anyway, that someone like General Moradmin Bast would throw away everything he'd been for a woman like her?

It was the first time she'd really let her half-formed thoughts on the subject take shape, and she wished she hadn't. Tears burned hot at the back of her eyes, and she turned away from him to stare out the window. He didn't follow her, but maintained his position at the center of the chamber, hands clasped behind his back.

Somehow she knew that his decision to stay where he was and not join her could only be a harbinger of things to come.


End file.
